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A   DEMIGOD 


"Eicropa  friov 

ILIAD,  xx.,  210 


NEW  YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    FRANKLIN    SQUARE 
1  887 


Copyright,  1880,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 


TO 

IHn  iHtfe 


2061823 


THE  THEME. 


Tin:  Demigod's  name  was  Hector  Yyr. 

He  was  evolved  from  ordinary  humanity  by  a  long- 
continued  process  of  artificial  selection,  aided  by  au 
spicious  fortune. 

The  natural  pear  is  a  wretched  little  rose-hip:  art 
has  developed  it  into  a  Duchcsse  d'AngOuldme. 

The  wild  horse  can  scarcely  trot  a  mile  in  four  min 
utes:  artificial  selection  has  produced  a  Maud  S. 

The  evolution  of  the  Demigod  and  certain  passages 
from  his  history  are  herein  recounted — thus,  I  regret 
to  add, helping  to  frustrate  one  of  the  most  cherished 
purposes  of  his  life.  But  what  secret  purpose  so  noble, 
what  precinct  of  the  heart  so  sacred,  as  to  be  safe  from 
man's  profane  scrutiny?  The  general's  plans  of  battle 
arc  known  to  his  enemy  almost  as  soon  as  to  his  own 
officers,  and  the  "President  reads  the  secret  counsels  of 
his  Cabinet  in  his  evening  paper. 

That  the  publication  of  this  narrative  is  not  the  act 
of  perfidy  to  its  hero  it  may  for  a  while  appear,  will 
be  proved  in  due  time,  I  trust,  to  everybody's  satis 
faction. 


CONTENTS. 


CIIAI-.  PAOB 

I.  A  MAD  DOCTOU 7 

II.  AT  THE  PARTHENON 9 

III.  Tin:  I'KOIKSSOR 24 

IV.  Tin:  TAYCKTUS 36 

V.  Tin;  I!I:K;ANI>S 50 

VI.    "WrriHHT  TIIK  GATES 66 

VII.    Tin:  Iv.jnsrnoN 81 

VIII.    Tin:  "  ANTIIKOI-ODAIMON  " 96 

IX.    Tin:   KKTKKAT Ill 

X.    Tin:  VYKS  AT  HOME 127 

XI.    .Jr.Ai.orsY 143 

XII.    Tin:  TKADITI-.N  \i.  OATII 159 

XIII.  THE  REASON  ••  YA'iiY-i-oKE" 178 

XIV.  MA.IOK  I'AII.  ASTONISHES  HIMSEI.K 193 

XV.      (UMKIIN     Kl.ilKNS 203 

XVI.    IN  riin:  STAUI.ICIIT 215 

XVII.    Tin:  LAI-.UKATOKY 230 

XVIII.    Tin:  SKKIM.NT  IIi-i:< 2:5!) 

XIX.    Tin:  SI;HI>KNT  STIN(;S 254 

XX.    Tin:  M.uou's  KIDI; 267 

XXI.   Tin:  OKDKAL 273 

XXII.   A  NIGHT  ov  FEYEH 286 

XXIII.  ON  Tin:  \  LUANDA 294 

XXIV.  HKITOK  VYU  VISITS  PKSI'IIIXO 304 

XX\".  How  THIS  ST<>KY  CAME  TO  BE  AVuiTTEN  .     .     .  311 

XXVI.    Ai    IJi.'.om 325 

XXVII.    A  COUBT  Kixia-TK.N  .  .  328 


A  DEMIGOD. 


I. 

A   MAD    DOCTOR. 

KKXKI.M  VKUK,  the  great-great-great-great-grand 
father  of  our  hero,  was  a  wealthy  English  physician, 
who  lived  in  Amsterdam  in  the  very  height  of  the 
famous  tulipomania.  He  became  infected  with  the 
prevailing  madness,  which  in  his  case  soon  changed 
to  an  entirely  different  form.  Instead  of  attempting 
to  evolve  new  varieties  of  tulips,  his  thoughts  ran  on 
the  improvement  of  his  own  race.  Failing  to  divert 
the  general  enthusiasm  into  this  new  channel,  he 
suddenly  disappeared,  and  nothing  was  ever  after 
wards  seen  or  heard  of  him.  One  of  his  letters  is 
still  extant,  however,  in  which  he  declares  his  inten 
tion  to  make  a  home  for  himself  in  the  purest  at 
mosphere  of  Greece,  to  take  to  wife  the  handsomest 
and  wholesomest  barbarian  that  money  can  buy,  and 
to  enforce  among  his  children  the  strictest  code  of 

o 

mental  and  physical  health. 

u  Xatur,"  he  writes,  "hath  not  desyned  Man  to  be 
a  beaste  of  prey.  Ye  devouring  of  flesh  is  but  little 
better  than  Caribalism  [cannibalism].  It  planteth 
foul  humours  in  the  blood  and  lewde  lusts  in  ye 


S  A   DEMIGOD. 

heart.  My  children  slial  not  be  of  this  sorto,  I 
promise  thee.  Neither  shal  they  cherisli  ambitions, 
the  which  burn  vp  tlic  powers  ofyc  minde  and  bodyc 
like  a  consuming  fyre.  Natur,  lyke  water,  doth  seckc 
her  own  level.  Genius  doth  seldome  beget  genius. 
Wherefor  they  shall  be  trayned  vp  to  voyde  all 
maner  and  degree  of  notorietie.  Nay,  my  yonge 
Impes  shal  sware  to  giue  their  lyves  and  powers  to 
harmonious  self-nourture,  to  the  ende  yl  they  may 
leaiie  a  goodlie  heretage  of  mental  and  phisikal 
health  to  their  descendents,  as  ye  master  of  an  en- 
tayled  estate  doth  sware  to  transmit  it  with  en- 
c-reased  seigniories  to  his  heirs. 

"Moreouer,  they  shal  sware  to  impose  a  lyke  oblK 
gation  vpon  their  children.  So  shall  futur  genera 
tions  see  whether  a  Man  be  as  good  as  a  Tulype  or 
no.  Did  not  the  lawes  of  auncient  Sparta  breed  vp 
a  race  of  gyantes?  What  hath  ben  don,  can  it  not 
be  don  agen  ?  Aye,  and  better  yette."' 

For  several  years  after  Dr.  Yere's  disappearance 
his  friends  tried  to  reopen  communication  with  him, 
but  no  clew  to  his  hiding-place  could  be  obtained, 
and  he  was  at  last  given  up  for  dead. 

Two  centuries  have  buried  him  deeper  than  the 
nethermost  Troy. 


AT   Till-:    PARTHENON. 


II. 

AT   THE    1'Aia  II  KXON. 

IT  is  one  of  those  clays  in  Athens  when  the  faint 
est  cloud  would  be  but  a  blemish  on  the  blue  vault 
of  the  sky.  Every  shrub  on  Ilymettus  and  Penteli- 
cus  shows  sharp  and  distinct  through  the  crystalline 
air.  Even  Panics  and  Cithreron  seem  an  easy  walk, 
while  Parnassus,  seventy  miles  away,  cuts  the  horizon 
like  a  knife  of  pearl. 

Among  the  ruins  of  the  propyhva  arc  lounging  a 
little  party  of  American  tourists,  whom  we  will  pre 
sent  in  due  order. 

On  one  of  the  broad  marble  steps  sits  Major  War 
ren  Paul,  a  robust  man  of  iifty,  with  closely  cropped 
hair,  which  shows  only  a  sprinkling  of  its  original 
black,  ruddy  face  flanked  by  full,  granite- colored 
whiskers,  and  the  general  forceful  air  of  a  political 
demagogue  or  of  a  railroad  manager.  lie  would 

o    o  o 

make  but  an  indifferent  specimen  of  either,  how 
ever,  except  in  the  haranguing  of  a  mob  of  com 
munists  or  strikers ;  for  though  he  possesses  energy 
enough,  it  usually  expends  itself  so  entirely  in  words 
that  it  is  followed  by  an  inglorious  reaction,  and  thus 
his  acts  are  apt  to  be  whimsically  inconsistent  with 
his  speech.  At  home  he  will  abuse  a  political  can 
didate  in  terms  that  even  a  campaign  editor  would 


10  A    DEMIGOD. 

hesitate  to  use,  and  then  go  straight  to  the  polls  and 
vote  for  him.  In  his  family  he  will  storm  like  a 
madman  over  their  extravagance,  and  then  make  up 
for  his  brutality  by  buying  them  luxuries  they  would 
never  dream  of  buying  for  themselves.  But  this 
foible  of  his  had  its  peculiar  advantages.  Without 
it  a  far  less  unruly  tongue  would  have  cost  him  all 
his  friends  ;  few  men,  however,  were  more  popular 
than  the  loud -mouthed  Major  Paul.  It  was  even 
the  cause  of  one  of  the  proudest  triumphs  of  his 
life. 

He  had  entered  the  army  with  the  rank  of  captain. 
For  a  while  his  company  was  a  proverb  of  discipline  ; 
but  the  men  soon  discovered  that  his  verbal  car 
tridges  were  always  without  ball,  and  then  his  com 
pany  was  a  proverb  of  anarchy.  What  was  to  be 
done?  Have  him  put  on  the  general's  staff?  have 
him  detailed  for  special  duty?  Not  for  worlds — his 
colonel  and  fellow-officers  would  not  lose  so  good  a 
fellowr  from  the  regiment.  Happy  thought  —  pro 
mote  him  to  the  majorship ! 

He  has  an  ear  for  round,  ringing  words,  like  a  mu 
sician's  for  the  concord  of  sweet  sounds,  and  I  half 
think  this  is  the  true  explanation  of  his  frequent 
philippics.  A  sonorous  polysyllable  or  phrase  will 
always  catch  his  attention,  often  at  the  expense  of 
the  connected  thought,  and  you  will  soon  hear  him 
rolling  it  over  his  tongue  as  an  expletive,  in  ludicrous 
defiance  of  its  meaning.  "  Boswell's  Life  of  John 
son  !"  he  will  say,  for  instance,  as  any  one  else  would 
say  "Good  gracious!"  Time  was  when  he  swore, 


AT  THE   PARTHENON.  11 

not  for  the  wickedness  of  the  habit,  nor  often  to  give 
vent  to  his  less  amiable  emotions,  but  simply  on  ac 
count  of  the  rousing  resonance  which  unfortunately 
belongs  to  most  of  the  more  common  "  swear  words." 
Since  his  wife's  death,  however,  which  had  by  some 
persons  been  attributed  to  Divine  indignation  at  his 
fearful  blasphemies  —  as  if  Providence  would  hesi 
tate  to  visit  his  transgressions  directly  upon  his  own 
head  !  —  he  had  tried  to  break  himself  of  the  habit, 
and  now  swore  big,  but  for  the  most  part  innocent 
words,  as  a  man  chews  gentian  or  slippery  elm  in 
lieu  of  tobacco. 

A  little  below  the  stair-way,  on  a  battered  plinth, 
in  the  shadow  of  the  pedestal  of  Agrippa,  that  with 
its  ugly  height  dwarfs  the  mutilated  beauties  of  the 
marbles  around  it,  half  reclines  a  tall,  graceful  young 
lady,  in  whom  a  casual  glance  scarcely  discovers  the 
daughter  of  the  gallant  major.  Closer  observation 
reveals  certain  turns  of  the  eye  and  tricks  of  gesture 
so  curiously  like  his  that  you  almost  wonder  why 
they  do  not  make  him  as  enchanting  as  they  make 
her.  There  is,  too,  an  occasional  vigor,  perhaps  I 
should  say  luxuriance,  in  her  speech  even  more  strik 
ingly  suggesting  the  relationship  between  them.  She 
is  in  a  state  of  sound  health,  which,  in  the  good  old 
times,  would  have  been  unpardonably  vulgar,  but 
which,  in  these  bad  new  times,  is  more  than  offset 
by  rich  color  of  cheek  and  lip,  clear  light  of  happy 
eyes,  and  firm  roundness  of  figure. 

A  young  man  is  seated  cross-legged  on  the  ground 
near  her,  playing  a  solitaire  game  of  "jack-stones" 


12  A   DEMIGOD. 

with  chips  of  marble,  which,  for  aught  lie  knew,  may 
have  been  fragments  of  the  famous  Athene  of  the 
Inner  Temple.  His  face  is  a  curious  jumble  of  in 
consistencies.  The  general  cast  is  that  of  the  con 
ventional  pirate — low,  heavy  brows,  eyes  dark  and 
deep -set,  nose  strongly  aquiline,  lower  jaw  square 
and  firm,  and,  as  if  the  owner  aimed  at  completing 
the  picture,  a  long,  drooping  black  mustache.  But 
the  effect  is  spoiled,  or  rather  redeemed,  by  an  ex 
pression  of  jocular  good-nature,  in  strange  contrast 
with  the  forbidding  form  and  color  of  the  features. 
You  miss  the  skull  and  cross-bones  from  the  black 
flag,  and  see  only  a  cap  and  bells  in  their  stead.  For 
the  rest,  he  has  a  long,  athletic,  though  slightly  round- 
shouldered  figure,  and  slender,  shapely  hands,  dis 
played  to  peculiar  advantage  in  their  present  idle 
employment. 

Both  he  and  his  fair  companion  wear  garments  of 
those  coarse,  neutral-tinted  materials  so  curiously  be 
coming  to  people  who  can  wear  satin  and  broadcloth 
when  they  choose,  and  which  conduce  so  inevitably 
to  ease  of  speech  and  demeanor,  just  as  satin  and 
broadcloth  conduce  to  stateliness  and  formality. 
There  is  little  enough  of  stateliness  or  formality  be 
tween  these  two,  at  all  events,  for  they  are  engaged 
in  a  more  than  half  serious  quarrel ;  though,  for  that 
matter,  they  would  be  as  likely  to  quarrel  in  satin 
and  broadcloth  as  in  tweed  and  serge.  Happily, 
their  quarrels  never  last  long,  and  leave  no  more 
clouds  than  a  summer  shower. 

She  has  entered  upon  the  propylsea  with  her  shoes 


AT   T1IE   PARTHENON.  13 

removed.  This  must  not  be  understood  to  mean 
that  her  little  feet  are  actually  nude,  like  those  of 
old  Cecrops  and  his  daughter  a  few  rods  distant,  but 
must  be  interpreted  as  simply  describing  her  mental 
condition.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  has  tramped  in 
upon  that  consecrated  ground  like  an  irreverent  Mos 
lem.  She  has  been  trying  to  inspire  him  with  some 
thing  of  her  own  awe  and  admiration  of  the  ruined 
glories  around  them,  while  he  has  been  profaning 
them  and  exasperating  her  with  stale  puns  and  other 
witless  nonsense. 

"Bobert  Griffin!"  she  exclaims,  at  last,  "I  really 
didn't  know  you  were  such  a  shallow,  soulless  creat 
ure1/' 

"Oh,  Madeline,"  he  drawls,  catching  three  stones 
on  the  back  of  his  hand  and  then  in  his  palm,  "I'm 
afraid  you  mean  to  insinuate  something  deroga 
tory."  ' 

"  Ugh !  you  poor,  miserable — " 

"Poor!  By  Jove,  that's  too  much!  I've  some 
feelings,  you  heartless  traducer !" 

"  I  wish  I  could  touch  them,"  she  retorted,  through 
her  white  teeth.  "I  wish  anybody  or  anything 
could." 

'•  Well,  if  you  can't,  you  may  be  sure  nothing  else 
can.  "NY hat  do  you  mean  (toss),  you  little  frump,  by 
calling  me  poor,  when  you  know  I've  got  (toss)  East 
ern  Pacific  enough  to  buy  that  old  knock-kneed, 
broken -backed  (toss)  church  that  you  admire  so 
much  ?" 

"  You  dare  to  speak  so  of  the  Parthenon  ?" 


14  A  DEMIGOD. 

"Pooh!  what  is  thereto  dare?  where's  the  dan- 
ger?" 

"  '  Fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread.' ': 

"  Plucky  fools !  It  seems,  however,  that  one  angel 
dares  to  tread  here  as  well  as  one  fool —  There,  by 
George,  I've  missed  it  again  !  Just  hand  me  that 
jack-stone  behind  your  heel,  will  you  ?" 

"  You  talk  of  buying  the  Parthenon  !  You  ought 
to  be  ashamed  to  mention  your  disgusting  bonds  in 
its  presence — you  sordid,  blasphemous  wretch  !" 

"  Come,  I  say!  /can  call  names  as  well  as  yon. 
You  snaky-haired  Medusa !  You  blood-thirsty  can 
nibal!  Oh,  for  breath  to  tell  thec  what  thou  art! 
But  consider  a  little,  my  darling  cousin,  my  sweet- 
brier-rose — you  won't  find  those  same  bonds  so  dis 
gusting  in  a  year  or  so." 

"Yes,  I  shall — and  their  proprietor,  too,  unless  he 
changes  in  a  great  many  respects.  And,  by-the-way, 
I  don't  wish  you  to  speak  to  me  or  look  at  me  in 
that  way,  Robert.  You  know  very  well  you  have 
no  right." 

"  Haven't  I,  indeed  ?"  cried  Griffin,  throwing  away 
his  jack-stones,  and  leaping  up  in  mock  fun-.  "We 
haven't  been  promised  to  each  other  almost  from  our 
infancy,  have  we?" 

"  Most  certainly  not,"  she  answered,  looking  him 
squarely  in  the  face.  "Whatever  papa  may  have 
said,  /  have  made  no  promises,  and  I  don't  think  I 
ever  shall." 

"What  treason  is  this?  Wasn't  it  for  that  very 
purpose  we  took  this  tour  together?  Wasn't  this 


AT  THE  PARTHENON.  15 

close  and  constant  association  to  knit  our  souls  in- 
M-purably  together?  Mine  is  already  knit;  isn't 
yours?'' 

"I  o\\\y  wish  you  knew  how  utterly  distasteful 
such  speeches  are  to  me.  You  turn  everything  into 
nonsense,  even  your  professed  love  for  me.  How 
can  I  believe  in  your  professions,  or  place  any  value 
upon  them  ?  This  close  and  constant  association  is 
producing  exactly  the  opposite  effect  to  that  which 
you  and  papa  pretend  to  hope  from  it.  I  am  really 
serious,  Robert." 

Her  looks  and  tones  confirmed  her  words. 

'•  Would  you  be  better  pleased  with  me,"  Griffin 
asked,  "if  I  were  like  young  JSpooner,  whose  fond 
est  hopes  you  so  mercilessly  nipped  in  the  bud  ?" 

"I  should  be  immensely  better  pleased  with  you," 
she  replied,  with  an  angry  flush,  "if  you  sometimes 
showed  that  you  had  one-tenth  of  Dr.  Spooner's  heart 
and  soul." 

"  Pity  he  hasn't  a  head  to  match,"  sneered  Griffin. 

"Well,"  the  little  vixen  darted  back,  in  her  high 
key,  "  no  one  can  accuse  you  of  any  such  want  of 
symmetry.  But,"  she  added,  as  an  instant  but  need 
less  antidote,  "  we  were  not  talking  of  Dr.  Spooner, 
we  were  discussing  a  much  more  interesting  subject 
— we  were  discussing  you" 

"Oh,  me.  Why  will  you  always  be  lugging  in 
such  deep  and  abstruse  subjects,  when  I  am  trying 
to  rest  my  mind  by  a  little  light  conversation  ?" 

"I  don't  know  where  we  could  find  a  lighter  sub 
ject,"  she  answered,  laughing  in  spite  of  herself. 


16  A   DEMIGOD. 

"Nonsense.  You  know  I  am  full  of  heart  and 
soul,  Madge." 

"  Take  care,  sir.  You  may  really  wish  to  use  those 
sacred  words  seriously  some  time,  and  iind  yourself 
like  the  soldier  in  battle  who  has  broken  his  weap 
ons  in  reckless  play." 

She  said  this  with  an  air  of  solemn  warning  that 
impressed  even  him. 

"  Words  are  never  weapons,  Madeline,"  he  replied, 
with  a  sudden  accession  of  gravity  and  even  dignity. 
"  Weapons  are  solid  facts.  No  amount  of  play  can 
harm  facts.  You  know  my  heart  —  what  more  is 
necessary?  What  do  words  amount  to,  anyway? 
They're  nothing  but  nitrogen  and  carbonic  acid 
gas." 

"  I  know  that's  your  valuation  of  them,  yet  I  know 
of  no  one  who  uses  them  more  volubly  than  you  do." 

"  Well,"  he  returned,  with  a  portentous  sigh,  "  I've 
got  to  breathe"  I  may  as  well  breathe  through  my 
glottis  as  through  my  nose." 

"You  forget  that  you  are  not  the  only  one  con 
cerned." 

"Oh,  I  lore  you?  That's  terrible.  I  thought  I 
only  shocked  you." 

"  Words  must  have  some  meaning  to  possess  even 
that  power." 

"So  I  haven't  even  the  power  to  shock  anybody  ?" 
— threateningly. 

"You  needn't  try" — in  alarm. 

"You  should  have  seen  Aunt  Eliza  this  morning. 
I  had  blundered  into  some  of  my  imprudent  speeches, 


AT  THE   PARTHENON.  17 

and  she  went  so  far  as  to  say  no  gentleman  would 
speak  like  that.  I  told  her  I  didn't  profess  to  be  a 
gentleman,  that  it  was  only  another  name  for  imbe 
cile.  She  said  I  was  not  only  no  gentleman,  but  no 
Christian.  I  replied  that  I  made  no  pretensions  to 
either  title,  that  Christians  were  cither  hypocrites  or 
fanatics.  I  thought  the  poor  old  virgin  would  go 
mad.  '  W/tct  are  youf  she  shrieked.  'A  laughing 
philosopher,'  said  I;  'a  mere  animal  with  senses  to 
enjoy, and  with  just  prudence  enough  to  avoid  crime 
and  disaster.' ': 

Madeline  listened  to  his  story  without  a  smile. 
"I  am  more  than  half  convinced,"  she  said,  "that 
you  gave  her  your  true  genus  and  species." 

'"Course  I  did — Homo  Pcrditus" 

"Then,  of  course,  you  cannot  reasonably  expect 
me  to  have  anything  more  to  say  or  do  with  j'ouf" 

"I  suppose  not"  —  with  a  sigh  of  resignation. 
"Henceforth  we  must  be  as  if  we  had  never  met." 

"Good-by." 

"(iood-by.  Try  to  think  of  me  as  I  was  in  the 
innocent  days  of  my  childhood." 

"I  shall  try  not  to  think  of  you  at  all." 

She  rose  and  walked  leisurely  towards  the  stair 
way  of  the  propylfea.  The  major  had  by  this  time 
left  his  seat  on  the  steps,  and  had  disappeared  on  the 
plateau  of  the  akropolis.  Griffin  sprang  up  and  over 
took  Madeline. 

"  Where  are  you  going?"  he  asked. 

"  I'm  going  to  find  papa." 

"  May^I  go,  too  T 


18  A   DEMIGOD. 

"If  you'll  stop  your  abominable,  tiresome  non 
sense." 

"Now,  isn't  that  rather  hard  on  a  poor  fellow  who 
has  only  been  doing  his  best  to  entertain  you?" 

"  Can't  you  see,  you  poor,  dear  boy,  that  you  have 
been  going  about  it  in  exactly  the  wrong  way? 
Can't  you  get  rid  of  the  absurd  idea  that  what  you 
call  fun  is  entitled  to  precedence  over  everything 
else,  and  at  all  times?  Can't  you  realize  that  there 
are  some  things  too  sacred  to  be  trifled  with  ?  In 
stead  of  increasing  by  your  sympathy  the  pleasure 
we  might  both  enjoy  here,  you  only—  I  confess  I 
cannot  understand  your  insensibility  to  this  wonder 
ful  scene,  with  all  its  associations.  How  can  you  look 
upon  those  ruins,  and  desecrate  them  with  evcry-day 
chatter,  especially  every-day  puns?  I  should  think 
their  very  names  would  make  some  impression  upon 
you." 

She  had  stopped  walking  during  this  appeal,  and 
now  seated  herself  on  one  of  the  steps.  Griffin  was 
absently  tracing  the  figures  in  the  sculptured  rubbish 
which  lay  around  them  with  the  end  of  his  walking- 
stick. 

"Hang  it,  Madeline!"  he  said,  bringing  the  stick 
down  with  a  whack  upon  one  of  the  marble  blocks, 
"you  must  remember  I'm  not  made  of  such  refined 
clay  as  you  are.  I'm  only  an  every-day  sort  of  fel 
low,  and  can  talk  only  every-day  talk.  If  I  -were 
promoted  to  a  regular  member's  seat  on  High  Olym 
pus,  I  should  probably  forfeit  it  the  very  first  day  by 
some  vile  pun.  I  suppose  it  only  shows  the  coarse- 


AT  THE   PARTHENON.  19 

of  my  nature,  but,  to  tell  you  the  honest  truth, 
I  never  believed  that  people  who  talk  classical  rhap 
sodies  really  fed  as  they  talk.  They  only  want  to 
show  how  exquisitely  aesthetic  they  are.  I  —  I — 
don't  mean  you,  of  course." 

"  I  don't  profess  to  be  made  of  finer  clay  than  you 
are,1'  returned  Madeline,  well  pleased  that  he  was  at 
last  reduced  to  seriousness,  "  but  as  to  saying  what  I 
don't  feel — well,  if  you  choose  to  think  me  such  a 
hypocrite — " 

"Didn't  I  jnst  say  I  didn't  mean  you?" 

"  I  really  do  feel  a  great  deal  more  than  I  can  ex 
press.  I  don't  see  how  any  one  can  help  it — here.  I 
never  was  in  any  other  place  that  affected  me  as  this 
does.  Kowhere  else  have  I  ever  felt  such  a  glow  of 
tender  emotions.  Don't  interrupt  me,  please.  Let 
me  talk  to  you,  for  once,  as  I  would  to  any  one  else. 
The  Parthenon,  especially,  seems  to  me  like  a  vast, 
noble  intelligence  clothed  in  a  form  of  perfect  beau 
ty,  lamenting  its  own  downfall.  I  have  no  words  to 
express  the  exquisite  sorrow  that  fills  me — the  long 
ing  to  see  it  restored  in  all  its  symmetry  and  gran 
deur — and  to  think  that  only  two  centuries  ago  it 
was  almost  uninjured !  I  feel  like  speaking  with 
bated  breath  in  that  sublime  presence.  It  seems  as 
if  the  great  shade  of  Phidias  hovered  in  the  blue  air 
over  it." 

"Like  the  Spectre  of  the  Brocken,"  interposed 
Robert,  his  face  lighting  up  with  self-appreciation, 
"  big  only  because  it  is  so  far  off.  Come,  now,  I  call 
that  a  mighty  good  comparison.  I  don't  suppose 


20  A   DEMIGOD. 

Phidias  was  much  ahead  of  some  of  the  great  artists 
of  to-day,  do  you  ?" 

"Well,"  returned  Madeline,  impatiently,  "if  that 
is  your  real  judgment,  I  abandon  you  as  an  incorri 
gible." 

Griffin's  brow  contracted  a  little.  "I  suppose  I 
am  a  lamentable  specimen  of  ignorance  and  vulgari 
ty.  I  don't  understand  how  you  can  condescend  to 
associate  with  such  a  peasant." 

"Oh,  fudge!  I  know  very  well  you  don't  really 
feel  as  you  talk,  as  you  say  about  classical  rhapso- 
dists.  You  only  talk  as  you  do  for  the  sake  of  exas 
perating  me." 

Griffin  reflectively  poked  the  stones  with  his  stick 
a  few  moments,  and  then  said, 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right.  I  don't  pretend  to  under 
stand  myself  very  well.  As  I  said  a  little  while  ago, 
the  subject  is  altogether  too  profound  for  me.  Uncle 
Warren  talks  just  as  I  do,  only  a  great  deal  more  so." 

"  Oh,  papa !  I  don't  mind  his  sneers  any  more  than 
I  do  his  scolding.  Everybody  knows  the  more  he 
abuses  a  thing  the  more  he  really  respects  it.  There's 
nothing  he  berates  more  than  the  classics  and  the 
classic  countries,  yet  you  know  he  wanted  you  to  go 
to  Harvard,  and  here  we've  been  in  Greece  longer 
than  in  any  other  country  since  we  left  Boston.  He 
spent  a  long  time  yesterday  at  the  Theseum,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  we  shall  presently  find  him  worship 
ping  the  Parthenon.  Let's  go  up  and  see." 

So  saying,  she  sprung  up  again,  and  led  the  way 
through  terraced  colonnades,  an  avenue  of  beautiful 


AT   THE    PARTHENON.  21 

(Isolation,  past  great  monoliths  prone  and  stained 
Avith  the  mellow  gold  of  centuries,  until  they  stood 
within  the  ramparts  of  the  akropolis.  Close  at  hand 
rose  the  rocky  tower  of  Lycabettus.  A  little  farther 
on,  the  silver  of  vast  olive-groves  gleamed  in  the  sun 
light,  threaded  by  the  white  line  of  the  Piraeus  rail 
way.  Away  in  the  horizon  waved  the  mountains  of 
"Morea,  and  the  blue  ^Kgean  lay  around  its  islands. 
AVithin  the  parapet  lay  scattered  everywhere  shat 
tered  columns,  friezes,  drums,  fragments  of  the  en 
tablature,  and  sculptured  marble  in  every  stage  of 
mutilation.  From  the  midst  of  all  this  the  Tem 
ple  of  the  Virgin  soared  into  the  vivid  blue,  like  the 
palace  of  a  dream. 

u  What  did  I  tell  you?"  exclaimed  Madeline,  with 
a  laugh,  waving  her  hand  towards  a  portly  figure 
with  its  back  towards  them,  motionless  as  the  Colos 
sus  of  llhodes,  and  in  a  similar  attitude.  "Now  will 
you  pretend  you  don't  admire  classical  ruins f  she 
cried,  startling  her  father  from  his  reverie. 

"  Great  Thomas  Jefferson,  how  you  scared  me  !  I 
thought  you  were  one  of  those  old  she-gods  come  to 

™  •/  O 

life  again  !" 

"  Not  a  very  strange  mistake,"  said  Robert  Grif- 
h'n.  u  I've  often  thought  so  myself." 

"  Thank  you  both,"  laughed  Madeline,  "  particu 
larly  for  the  'old.'  Papa,  dear,  I  beseech  you  not  to 
say  'she-gods'  again;  it's  altogether  too  Saxon  an 
expression  for  this  place,  which  you  know  you  rev 
erence  in  your  heart.  Didn't  we  just  catch  }*ou  wor 
shipping  at  the  shrine  of  Athene?" 


22  A  DEMIGOD. 

"  Il.'m'pli  !  you  may  call  it  worshipping  if  yon  like. 
It's  the  way  a  good  many  worship  at  our  modern 
shrines.  I  was  estimating  the  outrageous  waste  of 
material  and  skilled  labor  here.  That  building  alone 
must  have  cost  half  a  million  dollars,  and  what,  in 
the  name  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association, 
was  it  ever  good  for  but  to  look  at?  But  that's  all 
those  old  Greeks  lived  for.  They  were  a  set  of  pre 
posterous,  effeminate  coxcombs.  They  ate  pickles 
and  chalk  to  tone  down  their  muscles  into  smoother 
outlines.  They  thought  it  was  vulgar  to  have  the 
muscles  of  men,  and  so  only  the  statues  of  barbarians 
and  satyrs  show  anything  like  real  manhood.  Talk 
about  their  being  a  noble  type  of  humanity!  Bax 
ter's  '  Saints'  Rest !'  your  true  Greek  athlete  was  a 
pretty,  rose -water -suck  ing  monstrosity.  l  Athlete  T 
Head  of  Ileliogabalus  !  I'd  bet  on  Madge  in  a  fair 
fight  with  one  of  'em  !" 

Her  father's  coarseness  afflicted  poor  Madeline  even 
more  than  her  cousin's  frivolity.  As  far  as  she  was 
concerned,  their  ravages  were  worse  than  those  the 
classic  precincts  around  her  had  already  suffered  \  for 
while  Time  and  Turk  had  mutilated  and  defaced 
only  the  marbles,  her  companions  seemed  bent  on  an 
nihilating  the  very  soul  of  poetry  and  romance  that 
other  iconoclasts — Lord  Elgin  and  all— had  left  in- 

o 

tact. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  brought  me  here,"  she 
said,  turning  away  with  a  grief  and  anger  she  rarely 
felt  towards  her  father.  She  walked  slowly  towards 
the  eastern  parapet,  complaining  to  herself :  "  Why 


AT   THE    PARTHENON".  23 

couldn't  they  lot  me  enjoy  it  as  T  wanted  to?  Men 
have  no  more  feeling  or  sense  than  a  stone.  I  never 
will  go  anywhere  with  either  of  them  again  !v  But 
soon  her  thoughts  were  diverted  by  the  glories  of  the 
eastern  landscape,  which  the  sun  was  painting  in  a 
thousand  brilliant  lines.  It  was  not  long  before  she 
was  descanting,  with  all  her  wonted  enthusiasm,  to 
the  two  penitent  delinquents  upon  the  mysterious, 
ragged  relics  of  the  Pelasgic  "Walls,  the  stately  ruin 
of  the  Temple  of  Olympian  Zens,  the  decrepit  old 
llissus  tottering  along  at  the  foot  of  llymettus,  and 
the  proud  Lycabettus,  with  skirts  of  green  velvet 
and  long,  soft  train  of  shadow. 

In  an  hour  or  two  the  party  descended.  Pacing 
the  inspection  of  a  bright-eyed  soldier,  whose  duty  it 
was  to  see  that  no  relic  was  carried  away,  they  wound 
through  the  grove  of  huge  aloes  beneath  the  .south 
ern  wall  of  the  akropolis,  thus  avoiding  the;  miserable 
lints,  built  of  mud,  stones,  and  many  a  sculptured 
fragment  once  precious,  that  skirt  the  western  base. 
They  found  the  narrow,  horribly -paved  streets 
thronged;  for,  as  usual,  all  Athens  was  out-of-doors. 
AVhatever  they  see,  Athenians  must  lie  seen — rich  or 
poor,  young  or  old.  beautiful  or  ugly,  in  embroidered 
silk  or  dirty  linen,  they  must  be  seen.  So  they 
were  all  there — gay  /w/V/w/-.*  in  their  crimson  jack- 
ami  snow-white/  7/.v;  black-eyed  ladies  in 
jaunty  gold-tasselled  fez  ;  beggars  in  their  rags,  and 
Franks  and  (i  reeks,  dressed  like  Franks  in  sober  black 
and  gray. 

The  picturesque  (Jreek  costume  is  fast  giving  place 


24  A   DEMIGOD. 

to  the  unromantic  coat  and  trousers  of  Western  Eu 
rope ;  but  there  are  certain  classes  who  will,  for 
many  years  to  come,  proudly  wear  the  scarlet  jacket 
and  white  fustanelli,  as  we  still  find,  here  and  there 
in  our  own  country,  the  blue  swallow-tail  and  bright 
buttons  of  a  past  generation. 

As  our  friends  drove  past  long  rows  of  one-storied, 
tumble-down  shops  and  dwellings,  towards  their  great 
hotel  in  the  Square  of  the  Constitution,  Major  Paul 
told,  with  much  satisfaction  and  many  congratula 
tions,  of  a  new  guide  and  interpreter  whose  services 
he  had  secured,  Professor  Markos  Tsiiras — a  real  pro 
fessor,  mind  you  —  late  of  L'Arvarion,  formerly  of 
the  island  of  Corfu,  "  where  Greek  and  English  are 
spoken  in  equal  purity/' 


III. 

THE    PROFESSOR. 

PROFESSOR  TSARAS,  or  Daskalomarkotsaras,  as  lie 
was  called  for  short  in  his  own  language,  was  a  thin, 
nervous  little  man,  with  a  suggestion  of  the  typical 
Greek  beauty  in  his  straight  nose,  dark  eyes,  and  olive 
cheeks.  lie  was  impulsive,  inquisitive,  cunning, 
polite,  keen  at  a  bargain,  and  intensely  patriotic — at 
least  in  words.  Living  in  a  country  totally  unable 
to  support  its  large  proportion  of  professional  citizens 
in  a  state  befitting  their  occupations,  he  was  as  poor 
in  purse  as  he  was  rich  in  education.  There  were  no 


THE   PROFESSOR.  o-> 

subjects  upon  which  his  nimble  tongue  ran  more  nn- 
iiiii'lv  than  his  own  attainments  and  the  injustice 
of  Fortune,  who  lavished  her  favors  upon  the  igno 
rant  and  the  stupid,  and  withheld  them  from  those 
who,  like  himself,  had  the  brains  to  appreciate  them. 
Like  most  of  his  countrymen,  he  was  quite  ready  to 
turn  an  honest  <//'<>c/t//i«  in  almost  any  way  that  offered, 
from  translating  a  hook  to  running  of  errands;  so, 
when  Major  Paul  applied  to  him  for  a  trustworthy 
dragoman,  he  immediately  proposed  himself,  with 
the  most  flattering  recommendations. 

When  Greek  meets  Yankee  in  the  way  of  trade, 
then  comes  the  tug  of  war.  It  was  a  good-natured 
warfare  in  this  case,  however,  and  at  last  the  terms 
were  satisfactorily  arranged.  Tsaras  agreed  to  act  as 
interpreter  and  guide,  and  to  provide  food,  lodging, 
and  transportation  for  the  party  at  ten  dollars  j»  /• 
<l'«iii,  not  including  lak*/tr<H/t  to  servants,  dri\ 
etc. — by  no  means  an  unimportant  item. 

"Monsieur  Paul,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head  with 
most  impressive  meaning,  "I  congratulate  you  for 
the  excellent  contract  you  have  maiike.  I  shall  saiife 
you  more  as  my  remuneraiition  each  days.  You  are 
ver'  acute,  Moi^u-ur  Paul,  but  you  know  not  how 
terrible  you  shall  be  cheat  if  you  shall  try  to  maiike 
the  contract  with  Greek  oticodespfaai  and  ayo(j'idt<ii'/: 
yotfself." 

The  party  made  several  short  excursions  to  Eleu- 
sis,  Marathon,  Sunium,  the  summits  of  Ilymettus 

*  Landlords  and  muleteers. 


2G  A    DEMIGOD. 

and  Pentelicus  —  and  then  tlic  major  signified  liis 
desire  to  visit  Sjmrtu,  and  that  most  magnificent  of 
all  the  Greek  ranges,  the  Taygetus. 

"I  want  to  see  the  people  who  live  among  those 
mountains,"  lie  said.  "  I  have  heard  that  they  are 
the  direct  descendants  of  the  ancient  Spartans,  and 
that  they  have  inherited  the  strength  and  hardihood 
of  their  ancestors.  If  that  is  true,  they  must  be  a 
most  remarkable  people,  sir,  and  I  want  to  make  their 
acquaintance." 

They  were  seated  in  a  cafe  in  the  Square  of  the 
Constitution,  smoking  nargiles  and  sipping  Cretan 
wine.  A  Bavarian  band,  just  outside,  was  playing 
Greek  and  German  airs,  to  the  great  annoyance  of 
some  palikars,  who,  with  true  Greek  inquisitiveness, 
were  vainly  trying  to  divine  what  the  distinguished- 
looking  Frank  was  saying.  AVhat  to  them  were  the 
tuneful  strains  of  the  Hymn  of  the  Revolution  — 

"  Atvrt  Traict£  rwv  'K 


'H  7rarpi£  aa  irpofficaXil  " 

—but  a  cover  to  some  possible  treason  on  the  part  of 
their  learned  countryman  or  of  the  foreigner?  They 
could  hear  the  "Asurs  "  at  any  other  time. 

"  Yeas,"  replied  Tsaras,  highly  pleased.  "  I  can 
tell  to  you  wond'ful  stoaries  of  the  Mainotes.  They 
perrformed  prodigee  of  valor  in  the  Revolution.  You 
shall  faind  glorious  examples  of  the  Greek  raa'ce 
among  them,  and  you  shall  be  convince  that  we  are 
not  the  degeneraate  pipple  the  worrld  thing  we  are. 
Aah  yeas,  we  have  gret  many  heroes  in  Greece  to- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  27 

dnv,  gret  many  unknown  Lconidas.     Mbotzaris  was 

•         >  «/ 

not  the  las' — no,  Monsieur  Paul — \vc  have  grot  many 
more  hero  as  brail ve  laike  Mbotzaris.  Have  not  you 
heaiTcl  the  naiime  VyrT 

••  Vere— -Verel     Oh  yes.     It's  an  English  name." 

"Engleesh!  O  d'nl^ol.^ ! — no;  Greek.  It  is  the 
naiime  of  a  wond'ful  familee  among  the  Mainotes. 
P'raps  we  inns'  not  belief  all  those  stoaries  which 
comes  to  us  of  the  familee  Yyr,  becose  some  of  those 
stoaries  be  laike — aah — miracle.  For  instanz :  one 
young  man  is  call  the  infirm  Ilerakles.  His  rilly 
naiime  is  Hector  Vyr,  and  it  shall  not  be  udithYultec 
to — aah — arraiinge  Twelf  Laiibors  of  his  exploit  which 
shall  resemble  those  lailbors  of  the  old  Ilerakles.  One 
taime,  it  says,  he  purrsned  a  band  of  klephts  ten 
kilometres,  and  he  knock  them  down  this  all  distan/ 
with  the  bodee  of  a  klepht  which  he  have  kill  with 
his  onlee  hands!" 

"Pooh!  1  can  beat  that."  said  the  major,  con 
temptuously.  Haven't  you  ever  heard  of  the  Amer 
ican  Ilerakles,  I);r:y  Crockett,  and  how  he  used  to 
kill  Indians  with  llashes  of  lightning  from  his  eyes  '." 

>%  Aah,  you  maiike  the  joke  with  me,  Monsieur 
Paul;  but  1  tell  to  you  the  only  truth,  laike  as  it  is 
tell  to  me.  No  klepht  have  the  braiivery  to  come 
near  to  his  iilds  or  to  his  orrchards.  Hector  Yyr 
shall  never  lose  sheeps,  and  he  pays  not — aah — what 
you  call — " 

-I  '.lack-mail  ?" 

"  Yeas.     Hector  Yyr  never  pays  black-mails !" 

"Why,  then,  in  the  name  of  Uunyan's  '  Pilgrim's 


28  A  DEMIGOD. 

Progress,' "  asked  Major  Paul,  "  doesn't  lie  come  forth 
and  drive  the  cussed  venomous  vermin  from  your 
country  altogether  ?" 

"Aah,  Monsieur  Paul,  that  is  the  mos'  sti-ai'ingr.-' 
thing.  Yeas.  He  shall  not  be  induce'  to  leave  his 
home.  With  all  his  power  and  his  braiivery,  he  have 
not  the  ainbection.  The  Hellenic  Gov'munt  have 
n make  to  him  the  offer  to  command  in  the  arrinec, 
but  he  shall  not  accept  not  any  offices  in  the  urrmee, 
not  in  the  Boulc" 

"But  I  should  think  patriotism  would  call  him 
out,  if  ambition  didn't." 

"  Aah,"  replied  Tstiras,  shaking  his  head,  "  not  any 
man  find'stands  Hector  Yyr.  He  is  wond'ful  mod 
est,  laike  he  is  wond'ful  strong.  It  is  difficultee  to 
even  see  him ;  for,  although  he  have  not  the  fear  to 
faiice  a  arrmee  of  cnemee,  he  shall  run  from  a  visitor 
laike  as  he  shall  run  from  the  didbolou /" 

"  Then  we  shall  stand  rather  a  slim  chance  of  see 
ing  this  demigod  of  yours,"  suggested  the  major. 

" '  Slim  ?'  Aah,  you  min  little  chance.  Yeas.  If 
we  shall  see  him  we  shall  be  fortunaiite  more  as  any 
man  at  all." 

"  Except  the  klephts." 

"  Yeas,  except  the  klephts.  They  shall  be  more 
fortunaiite  if  they  do  not  see  him." 

"  He  has  a  very  convenient  habit  for  a  d  innjod  in 
these  days,"  remarked  the  major,  in  a  somewhat  sar 
castic  tone.  "  We  have  sharper  eyes  and  more  criti 
cal  tests  than  they  had  in  the  time  of  Homer." 

"  You  do  not  belive  ?     Well,  we  shall  see.     You 


THE   PROFESSOR.  09 

shall  leave  my  conntroe  with  different  thoughts  as 
when  you  have  came  here.  Monsieur  Paul." 

••  Very  probable,  professor.  By-the-way,  speaking 
of  klephts,  I  suppose  you  mean  briyanilxC' 

••  Yeas.  T-iit  all  the  klephts  are  not  necessaiiry 
brigands.  The  naame  klepht  min  rillce  n\<> nnf,i nicer, 
which  mos'  often  are  wandering  shepherds,  !>I<icho- 
poimenes.  They  live  in  the  stronghold  of  the  mount 
ains  unt'l  they  have  exhaust  the  grass  for  their 
lierds,  and  too  friquent  the  booty  for  thcyself.  Then 
they  go  'way  very  <piee<-k  to  other  stronghold.  The 
principal  rizzon  that  it  is  difficultee  to  exterrminaatc 
them  is  becose  they  are  BO  acquaint  with  the  countreo 
that  they  easily  escaape  from  those  purrsuit.  Whaile 
their  enemee  climb  toilfully  upon  one  mountain,  they 
iiv  ea>v  away  laikc  tlie  birds  to  other.  They  shall 
go  liftee,  .-ixtee  kilometres  in  one  naight,  over  mount 
ains  which  other  men  shall  faind  impassable.  The 
Hellenic  Gov'mnnt  is — aah — asperse  mos'  unjustlcc 
for  rizzon  of  the  klephts.  The  nailtions  inns'  have 
the  sympathee  f«»r  us,  but  they  have  not  the  sympa- 
thec.  They  say  the  mos'  terrible  -lander  agains'  us. 
Thev  say,  '  CJreece  is  the  (,'aave  of  Adullam,  and  the 
(i reeks  are  a  naiitioii  of  assassin.'  Listen.  Monsieur 
Paul!" 

lie  took  from  his  pocket  a  scrap  of  newspaper, 
and  read,  "'Greece  is  geograapbioallee  a  part  of 
Turkey;  moraallee  a  continuaiition  of  Hades;  social- 
lee  an  offshoot  of  Soho  Square.  The  land  is  in  the 
hands  of  brigands;  the  only  law  observed  is  the  law 
of  pillage ;  the  only  king  recognaized  is  King  Death  !' 


30  A  DEMIGOD. 

"Those,  Monsieur  Paul,  is  the  senti'iiu'-nt  of  a 
countryman  of  the  Kngleesh  hero,  Loml  P.<vn>n.  who 
was  our  brailve  friend — one  gret  philhellene.  What 
you  thing  of  me  if  I  shall  say  New  York  is  a  con- 
tinuaiition  of  Hades,  becose  multitude  of  thiefs  haide 
in  her  had  strita,  which  laugh  and  wag  their  head  at 
the  gov'mimt  ?  We  inns'  not  be  censure  beeose 
Engleesh  and  American  travellers  are  robbed  in  our 
mountains,  no  more  as  you  inns'  be  censure  becose 
Greek  travellers  are  robbed  in  your  bad  strits,  Mon 
sieur  Paul/' 

"  That  is  hardly  a  fair  comparison,  professor,"  re 
plied  Major  Paul,  with  a  frown.  "  We  have  no  or 
ganized  bands  of  cutthroats  roaming  over  the  length 
and  breadth  of  our  land.  If  we  had,  by  the  Infernal 
Blacksmith,  we  should  declare  war,  and  sweep  them 
into  the  Atlantic  Ocean  !" 

" Declare  war !"  almost  shrieked  Tsaras.  "Do  not 
we,  too,  also  declare  war?  It  is  war  without  be 
gin  and  without  end.  But  Greece  is  not  all  over- 
weave  with  railway  laike  your  countrce.  We  have 
all  only  mountain  and  valley.  Our  only  roads  are — 
ah — ravines  in  the  mountains,  and  the  channel  of 
rivers  which  have  dry  up.  Every  plaiices  have  caiives 
and  thickets  which  cannot  be — ah — penetraiite,  where 
the  klephts  hide  theyself  in  one  little  moment. 
Some  taime  we  have  draive  them  away  farr  to  the 
north  ;  but  the  Turk  skijlloi  (dogs)  they  recive  them 
with  open  arms,  and  when  we  have  come  to  our 
homes,  the  klephts  they  come -too,  also. 

"  Also    we   are   not   strong   laike   your  countree, 


T11K    I'ROFKSSOR.  31 

M  •'.-:>  nr  Paul.     AVe  ha\  rec«>\vrr  ourself  of 

the  Turkish  oppiv-si.>n.      We  are  braiive  and  patriot, 
but   we  are  link*  number.      The  naiition.s  inu.s'   no; 
slander  us.  they  mil*'  hellup  us.  .Monsieur  Paul,  th>  <j  ' 
'  Iull»}> 

Ts&raa    -;   -kc   with  much   show  of  feeling.      His 
•;res  were  numerous,  and  in  the  most  impassioned 
lie  amse  from  his  seat  and  walked  back  and 
forth  by  liis  side1  of  the  table. 

"But  I  have  heard,"  said  the  major,  after  a  rellect- 
ive  silence  on  both  sides,  "that  you  do  not  always 
punish  your  robbers,  even  when  you  catch  them." 

"Punish  our  robbers?  aah,  we  are  too  sof  in  our 
heart.  The  (Jreek  pipple  be  heroes,  and  they  love 
heroes.  The  klephts  are  not  laike  the  En^leesh 
thiefs  —  they  be  laike  hero.  They  were  force'  to 
liaid«-  they  self  in  the  mountains  from  the  Turkish 
tl'nllnlu'i.  They  were  saiifo  tlierc,  .Monsieur  Paul,  and 
they  fly  away  down  upon  their  oppressors  laike  the 
B  fly  down  upon  the  jackal.  Kadi  klepht  were 
laike  the  Swit/.  hero,  Willuni  Tell.  Thcv  wei'e  the 
mos*  braiive  in  all  the  arnnee  of  the  revolution  ;  and 
when  the  war  finish,  they  faind  their  homes  all  ^oiie, 
they  faind  their  bee/ness  all  irone.  What  inns'  they 
do — what  mus'  they  </<>.  Monsieur  Paul  (  They  inns' 
'hey  mils'  have  hou>e,  they  inns'  have  garment. 
They  have  learrn  to  love  braiivery  in  the  mountains, 
and — they  st:iy  in  the  mountains.  They  were  her 
which  fai^ht  for  liberrty  —  they  are  klephts  which 
fai^ht  for  meat.  Is  ir  not  the  ju-:' 

Major  Paul  felt  but  little  admiration  for  the  flarn- 
3 


83  A  DEMIGOD. 

ing  eye,  the  erect  figure,  the  ringing  tones,  and  the 
impassioned  gestures  of  the  speaker.  His  prevail 
ing  feeling  was  one  of  disgust  and  irritation  at  the 
abominable  cause  the  little  professor  was  pleading. 
Controlling  himself,  lie  said  as  quietly  as  possible, 

"So  your  people  admire  the  rubbers,  and  are  even 
said  to  feed  and  shelter  them,  and  help  them  to  es 
cape  from  their  pursuers,  when  they  have  any." 

"  Aah,  Monsieur  Paul,  are  not  we  a  unhappee  pip- 
pie  ?  The  otkodeaptie*  knows  if  he  tell  the  gov'munt, 
or  if  he  refuse  meat  and  hellup,  his  sheeps  shall  be 
robbed  away,  and  his  house  shall  be  burn  with  faire. 
It  is  better  he  pay  —  ah  —  black -mails  than  he  be 
ruin." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  the  charges  against  your 
government  of  being  in  collusion  with  the  rascals?" 

"Pardon.    I  do  not  und'stand." 

"  Why,  your  government,  or  at  least  prominent 
members  of  it,  are  accused  of  secretly  helping  the 
brigands  and  sharing  in  their  plunder.  What  do  you 
say  to  that,  professor?" 

Tsaras's  cheek  flushed  darkly. 

"  Monsieur  Paul,  all  those  is  black  lies  of  the  En<r- 

7  o 

leesh  goddams!  The  Hellenic  gov'munt  does  all 
what  he  is  able.  And  he  has  done  gooddill,  Monsieur 
Paul.  He  has  swip  away  the  piraiite  from  the  tsea, 
and  many  taime  he  has  draive  the  klephts  to  the  top 
of  the  mountains.  lie  gives  protections  all  which 
lie  is  able ;  lie  sends  soldiers  with  the  traveller,,  and 
he  demands  no  recompense  for  the  protections.  We 
are  not  rich  laike  to  you,  Monsieur  Paul,  but  wo 


TIIK    I'KoFKSdOK.  :{:j 

liavc  hellupcd  to  pay  the  ransom  of  foreign  capti 
although  it  is  not  our  obligaiiti.m.    Wlu-ii  Lorrd  Mun- 

ter  and  liis  friends  were  captive.  King  Georgia* 
oll'ered  his  royal  bodee  for  the  ho>ta;ige.  AY  hat  can 
we  do  more  (  Hut  it  is  not  enough.  The  naiitions 
•he  eaame  black  lies  as  if  his  Majestee  and  all  the 
Greeks  are  klephts.  Oh,  Monsieur  Paul,  shall  you 
not  have  the  compassion  with  us  ?  Is  it  not  one  gret 
infaniee  C 

Major  Paul  had  no  disposition  to  tempt  further 
the  little  Hellenist's  patriotic  ardor,  particularly  as 
the  inquisitive  palikars  had  moved  their  chairs  near 
er,  and  had  evidently  gathered  some  inkling  of  the 
nature  of  the  discu.-sioii,  although  probably  not  one 
of  them  understood  a  word  of  Knglish.  He  readily 
nted  to  the  injustice  done  to  the  Greek  nation, 
and  in  characteristic  language  e.xpre.-sed  his  sym 
pathy. 

'•nut,"  he  added,  his  thoughts  taking  a  more  prac 
tical  turn.  "I  must  say,  professor,  this  talk  has  not 
stimulated  my  appetite  for  an  excursion  to  the  Tay- 
getus.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  feel  a  little —  How  do 
I  know  that  I  sha'ift  be  gobbled  up,  as  Muncaster 
was  r 

'•  ( )h,  my  friend,  have  not  fear.  You  shall  be  saiife 
there  laike  as  you  are  saiife  in  Athens.  The  klephts 
never  come  into  the  J'eloponnc.-e.  They  are  all  in  the 
North.  The  Mainotes  are  a  rude  pipple,  but  they 
are  honest  and  also  they  are  hospitaiiMe.  No  tra 
ler  takes  the  esetirt  when  he  goes  among  them.  JJut 
the  Hellenic  gov'munt  shall  give  to  you  the  escort,  if 


34  A  DEMIGOD. 

you  shall  ask  him,  as  I  have  said  to  yon."  Then, 
drawing  his  little  figure  up  to  its  full  height,  he  con 
cluded  with  the  reassuring  reminder :  "  /  shall  be 
your  guide,  Monsieur  Paul !" 

When  the  subject  of  the  excursion  came  up  in  the 
family  circle,  no  one  was  more  enthusiastic  in  its  fa 
vor  than  Madeline.  The  country  of  the  old  Spartans ! 
The  mountains  where  they  left  their  sickly  babies  to 
perish !  The  rocky,  pathless  wilderness !  The  Morea 
and  the  .^Egcan  spread  out  before  them  like  a  pano 
rama!  The  mules  and  the  pack-saddles,  and  a  thou 
sand  romantic  adventures!  The  brigands,  too,  the 
brigands !  "  Oh,  papa,  when  shall  we  start  Cy 

"  When  shall  we  start !"  cried  her  father,  when  he 
could  recover  his  breath  ;  "  who  said  anything  about 
your  going?" 

"  But  I  am  going,  am  I  not  ?" 

"  Great  Blue  Dragon !  I  should  as  soon  think  of 
your  going  for  a  soldier !  No,  no,  my  pet ;  you  and 
your  aunt  Eliza  will  study  art  and  architecture  in 
Athens,  while  Robert  and  I  take  this  little  trip  by 
ourselves." 

"  Professor  Tsaras  assures  us  it  is  perfectly  safe," 
timidly  ventured  Aunt  Eliza. 

"  What !  you  want  to  go,  too  ?" 

"  I  should  like  to  very  much,  if  it  wrould  be  agree 
able." 

"  You,  a  sensible  American  woman  of  forty !" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — thirty-nine." 

"A\rell,  that's  too  old  for  such  insane  nonsense. 
One  would  suppose  twenty-one  ought  to  be,"  with 


THE   PROFESSOR.  33 

an  indignant  glance  at  his  daughter.  "* Males  and 
pack-saddles!'  1  vh<»<l<l—  You  two  have  persuaded 
me  to  do  a  great  many  silly  things,  but  you  won't 
make  a  fool  of  me  this  time.  Do  you  think  I'm  such 
a  stark,  staring  idiot  as  to  take  you  on  a  journey  you 
couldn't  endure  for  a  day  (  Il'm'pli!  I  should  be  as 
bad  as  your  Spartans  with  their  babies!" 

"May  we  go,  papa?"  Madeline  asked,  with  her 
ino-r  seductive-  smile.  She  knew  the  opposition 
would  soon  be  exhausted  at  this  rate. 

"  Xo  /*'  thundered  the  major;  "  of  course  you 
won't  go.  '.Mules  and  pack -saddles!'  You'd  look 
well  on  a  park -saddle,  //••///.  would!  and  your  aunt 
Eliza —  (irandmother  of  John  the  T.apti^t!  she'd 
tumble  off  more  than  forty  tinus  a  minute!" 

"Oh  no.  Warren,  I  think  not.  I'm  considered  a 
very  respectable  horsewoman." 

••  1  say  you  tci»i!<l !  What  do  you  know  about  it? 
Do  you  think  the  (ireek  mountains  are  like  .Icpson's 
riding -school?  You  talk  about  brigands!" — turn 
ing  fiercely  bark  to  his  daughter—  k'  I  suppose  you 
think  they're  the  fascinating  gentlemen  that  sing  in 
the  opera— «lonched  hats  with  plumes,  silk,  and  gold 
lace,  and  slashed  BleeVtt,  OllendoriT's  (ireek  ( i ram- 
mar  !  You'd  like  an  introduction,  wouldn't  you? 
You'd  find  their  etiquette  a  little  different  from  New- 
bury  Street.  You  wouldn't  fall  in  love  with  any  of 
'em,  I'll  swear — though  they  might  fall  in  love  with 
you  -to  your  everlasting  sorro\v  T 

"  Ladies  haw  gone  plenty  of  times,  and  got  back 
safely,''  urged  Aunt  Kli/a. 


30  A    DEMIGOD. 

This  brought  on  another  peal.  It  thundered  and 
lightened  and  hailed,  until  the  meteorological  maga 
zine  gave  out,  when  the  usual  and  expected  result 
followed : 

The  ladies  went. 


IV. 

THE   TAYGETU8. 

THE  American  Minister  obtained  from  the  Hellenic 
Government  a  circular  letter  addressed  to  the  various 
demarchs  through  whose  domains  the  party  was  to 
pass,  bespeaking  their  kindly  offices.  The  Govern 
ment  also  sent  despatches  to  the  same  officials,  advis 
ing  them  of  the  honor  in  store  for  them.  If  there 
were  any  brigands  on  or  near  the  projected  route, 
therefore,  their  game  was  pointed  out  to  them  in 
ample  season. 

During  the  weeks  which  Major  Paul  had  spent  in 
Athene,  he  had  become  friendly  with  the  American 
Minister,  who  very  gladly  showed  his  friendship  by 
offering  his  yacht  to  transport  the  party  from  the 
Piraeus  to  Gytheion,  whence  they  were  to  proceed 
on  horseback  to  Sparta. 

Notwithstanding  repeated  assurances  that  there 
was  not  the  slightest  occasion  for  a  military  escort 
anywhere  south  of  the  Isthmus,  Major  Paul  had  per 
sistently  asked  for  one.  So,  on  reaching  Sparta  he 
found  a  lieutenant  and  six  gens-d"1  armes  awaiting  him. 


THE  TAYGETTS.  37 

Apart  from  its  associations,  the  renowned  city  of 
Lvcurgus  presented  hut  few  attraction..-.  Very  little 
of  the  old  city  remains.  The  Americans  inspected 
the  ruins  of  a  tomb,  alleged — probably  falsely — to  be 
that  of  Leonidas,  and  an  amphitheatre  where  the 
Spartans  were  assembled  when  the  news  came  of  the 
disastrous  defeat  at  Sellasia. 

"They  recived  the  intelligence,"  said  Tsaras, 
''  with  indifference,  although  it  maiide  them  subject 
to  the  Macedonians.  They  sit  still  uiit'l  the  trajcdee 
was  iinish." 

Beside  these  two  objects  and  a  temple  or  two,  they 
saw  little  except  a  collection  of  poor  dwellings,  whose 
inhabitants  resembled  their  remote  predecessors  only 
in  the  extreme  simplicity  of  their  fare.  It  is  true 
the  modern  city  has,  within  the  last  few  years,  made 
a  considerable  advance  in  prosperity  and  civilixation; 
still  the  prophecy  of  Thncydides,  that  from  the  re 
mains  of  the  two  cities  posterity  would  have  reason 
to  nnder-estimate  Sparta  as  much  as  to  over-estimate 
Athens,  ha.;  been  amply  fuliilled. 

I  Jut  when  our  travellers  looked  beyond  the  city 
they  saw  enough  to  admire.  Along  the  west  were 
ranged  the  live  grand,  snow-capped  peaks  of  thu 
Pentedactylon.  In  the  east  towered  Mts.  Parnon 
and  Tarax.  Between  these  the  fertile  valley  of  the 
Eurotas  stretched  up  and  down  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
see.  The  mountains  form  huge  natural  bulwarks, 
and  show  why  no  artiiicial  defences  have  ever  been 
constructed.  The  strength  of  the  Spartan  hege 
mony,  which  lived  on  and  on  while  everywhere  else 


38  A   DEMIGOD. 

aristocracy  was  tottering  to  the  ground,  was  due  not 
more  to  the  laws  of  Lycurgus  than  to  the  topography 
of  Laconia.  Sparta,  with  her  river,  her  garden-like 
environs,  and  her  gigantic  natural  walls  of  defence, 
formed  a  stronghold  impregnable  alike  by  assault  or 
siege.  Her  perioeci  starved  among  the  mountains, 
while,  within  her  own  little  area,  it  was  easy  to  keep 
her  foot  upon  the  necks  of  the  helots. 

From  Sparta  Major  Paul  and  his  party  took  up 
their  line  of  march  for  the  Taygetus.  The  path  led 
through  magnificent  groves  of  olives,  mulberry  and 
fig  trees,  and  plane-trees  planted  in  the  beginning  of 
the  Turkish  rule.  They  soon  reached  the  village  of 
St.  John,  whose  houses  were  almost  hidden  in  foli 
age — a  very  romantic  little  town.  Continuing  farther 
among  the  mountains,  they  came  to  the  great  rock  of 
Mistra,  at  the  very  base  of  the  Taygetus,  from  which 
it  is  separated  by  deep  gorges.  Upon  this  rock  is 
built  a  city  whose  paved  streets  rise,  one  above  an 
other,  in  the  most  picturesque  irregularity — a  dense 
ly  populated  city  in  the  heart  of  the  wildest  solitude! 
Here  they  spent  the  night  so  comfortably  that  Made 
line  was  quite  disappointed. 

Early  the  next  morning  they  found,  a  little  beyond 
Mistra,  several  curious  old  churches,  one  of  which, 
dedicated  to  St.  Nicholas,  was  so  hidden  among  rocks, 
trees,  and  shrubbery  that  it  was  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  that  they  penetrated  into  the  interior. 

"Well,"  said  Griffin,  surveying  the  scene  with  un 
disguised  disgust,  "we've  made  a  gallant  fight,  my 
brave  comrades,  and  here  we  are  in  the  citadel.  Now 


Till-:   TAVGEI  39 


let  us  count  the  spoils.  They  certainly  are 
enough  to  satisfy  even  Madge.  Item,  one  ruine<l 
stain-use.  You  ought  to  admire  tliat,  coz,  for  it  is  in 
worse  repair  than  the  Parthenon  itself.  Item,  three 
broken  candlesticks.  Item,  a  decayed  painting  of  an 
angel  —  or  is  it  a  tish  C 

"That's  a  fair  example  of  your  artistic  discrimina 
tion,"  retorted  Madeline.  "Those  areas  good  wings 
as  I  ever  saw.  Did  yon  take  them  for  h'ns  '." 

"I  didn't  know  but  it  might  be  a  ilying-iish,  you 
know.  Item,  a  mouldy  portrait  of  an  old  duffer  with 
one  eye,  a  fragment  of  a  nose,  and  no  chin." 

"  Pardon,''  broke  in  Ts;iras  :  ••  that  is  not  a  '  duiYer,' 
Monsieur  (triflm;  he  is  a  emperor,  lie  is  the  Em 
peror  Alexius  Commenus.  who  builted  the  church." 

"Robert  is  nothing,  if  not  irreverent,''  said  Made 
line. 

"  Now  for  a  lecture." 

••  Don't  Hatter  yourself.  I  shall  \vait  until  1  have 
a  more  appreciative  audience." 

Then  she  lectured  him  roundly. 

••  Monsieur  Paul,"  said  Tsaras,  after  they  had  fin 
ished  their  inspection  of  the  Church  of  St.  Nicholas, 
k'  what  way  shall  you  go?  The  way  to  the  north  is 
four  day  journey  ;  the  other,  across  the  mountains,  is 
onlee  three  day  journey,  but  he  is  much  more  difH- 
cultee." 

"  I  >o  you  know  both  routes  '."  ' 

"  Aah,  yeas.      I  know  all  (J  recce." 

"  Well,  then,  we'll  go  the  shortest  way.'' 


40  A   DEMIGOD. 

The  rest  of  the  party  voted  unanimously  in  favor 
of  the  route  across  the  mountains.  They  had  already 
become  somewhat  accustomed  to  the  difficulties  of 
mountain  travel,  and  felt  equal  to  any  effort  or  ad 
venture. 

As  they  entered  upon  the  steep,  scrambling,  rocky 
path,  the  cavalcade  proceeded  in  the  following  order : 

Lieutenant  and  three  gcns-d* armes. 

Major  Paul  and  Tsdras. 

The  two  women. 

Cook  and  assistant  cook. 

Mules  with  baggage,  including  beds  and  a  good 
supply  of  comestibles,  it  being  wisely  resolved  not  to 
trust  to  the  boasted  hospitality  of  the  JVIainotes. 

Three  gcm-d?  armcs. 

Griffin  was  not  confined  to  any  one  position.  He 
constituted  himself  a  sort  of  chief-marshal,  and  was, 
by  turns,  in  front  and  rear,  jabbering  broken  Greek 
with  the  escort,  calling  out  diatribes  from  the  major, 
quarrelling  with  Madeline,  and  joking  with  Tstiras, 
whose  superficial  dignity  had  long  since  given  way  to 
the  jaunty  young  fellow's  good-natured  impudence. 

Everybody  was  well  armed.  Even  the  women  car 
ried  little  revolvers  in  their  belts,  which  furnished 
Griffin  with  the  theme  for  endless  witticisms. 

For  an  hour  they  passed  through  the  wildest  glories 
of  nature,  rendered  doubly  magnificent  by  the  pur 
ple  and  gold  of  morning.  At  length  a  wide  valley 
suddenly  spread  out  before  them,  checkered  with 
olive,  mulberry,  and  orange  groves,  patches  of  pop 
lars,  willows,  and  open  fields,  which  ploughs  were  at 


TI1K    TAYGETUS.  41 

that  moment  gradually  turning  from  green  to  dark 
red.  Thickly  wooded  hills  stood  around  the  valley, 
their  summits  swimming  like  islands  in  lakes  of  rosy 
mist.  Ilelow  these  were  grassy  slopes  tinted  with 
anemones  of  every  shade,  among  which  groups  of 
peasant  children  were  playing  in  the  sunsliinc.  Here 
and  there  on  the  hills  could  he  seen  the  tall  white 
fortresses  of  the  Mainotes,  among  whom  a  sort  of 
feudal  system  is  still  in  force,  while  in  the  distance 
gaped  the  huge  black  jaws  of  the  Taygetus  gorge. 

"Xiiw.  then,  Madeline/'  said  Major  Paul,  after 
they  had  gazed  a  while  in  silence,  "give  us  the 
jesthetic  points  of  this  view." 

••  You  nid  no  better  guide  as  Miss  Paul,"  inter 
posed  Tsuras.  partly  in  piipie.  partly  because  he  would 
low  no  opportunity  to  compliment  the  beautiful  and 
sprightly  young  American. 

"  Interpreter,  you  mean,  ( 'harles,"  said  Griffin,  us 
ing  one  of  the  numerous  English  names  which  he 
had  bestowed  on  the  little  Greek.  "  As  a  guide  to 
our  feet  and  a  lamp  to  our  path.  Miss  Paul  would  be 
a  disastrous  failure.  Your  labor  is  fairly  divided. 
You  guide  our  mules  ;  she  guides  us.  You  interpret 
the  language  of  man ;  she  the  language  of  nature. 
You  are  Greek  ;  she  is  Saxon.  You  are  of  the  earth, 
earthy;  she  is  of  the  Leavings,  heavingly.  Don't  be 
jealous." 

"  '  Jealous,'  Monsieur  Griffin — it  is  not  jealous :  it  is 
admira&tion.  Miss  Paul  is  more  your  guide  as  I  am." 

"Dear  me!"  cried  Madeline,"!  beg  Monsieur 
Tsaras's  pardon  for  trespassing  on  his  province.  I 


!.'  A   DEMIGOD. 

shall  do   So  no  more,  I  assure  you,  monsieur.       In 
i'aet,  I   couldn't  if   I    would.       I   am   literally  talked 

out." 

"While  Charles  is  as  fresh  as  ever,"  added  Grill'm. 
"At  the  start  I  would  have  laid  two  to  one  on  you. 
You  can  use  the  biggest  words,  but  he  can  wind  you, 
Madge.  Let  me  try  my  hand.  Look  at  that  view 
now.  Isn't  it  glorious?  "With  M'hat  calcareous 
majesty  those  cerulean — 

"  Oh,  for  the  sake  of—" 

"Look  at  that  ploughman.  How  his  red  breeches 
creep  along  the  furrowed  field,  like  a  gigantic  lady- 
bug  along  a  blade  of  grass !" 

"Oh,  come,  come!"  put  in  the  major.  "Have 
done  with  your  nonsense.  That's  too  fine  a  view — 
I  don't  blame  Madge  for  being  disgusted  with  you. 
Go  ahead,  Madge,  tell  us  about  it." 

"  Yeas,"  added  Tsaras,  "  we  are  attention  to  Miss 
Paul's  views  of  the  view." 

" Impressions,  you  mean,  Charlie,"  corrected  Grif 
fin.  "  'Views  of  the  view'  is  not  good  enough  for  a 
pun,  and  it  is  bad  rhetoric." 

"  I  wish  that  you  shall  spik  Greek,  Monsieur  Grif 
fin,"  retorted  the  nettled  Tsaras;  "then  I  shall  be 
so  kaind  to  correct  your  little  mistaiike  too,  also." 

"  Thank  you,  professor ;  English  is  good  enough 
for  me." 

"  Order !"  shouted  the  major.  "  Madeline  has  the 
floor." 

"  Calling  a  mule's  back  a  floor,"  began  the  irre 
pressible  Griffin,  "reminds  me  of  the  Irishman's— 


Tin-;  TAY»:K;  43 

"V>y  tin-  SulTerin<r  .Tol>!  if  you  interrupt  her  airain 
I'll  pitch  you  into  tlio  middle  of  the  valley  !  Do  you 
hear  (  <io  on,  Madeline." 

"  Really,  papa,  I  am  so  overwhelmed  l>y  the  irrace- 
ful  and  elal>oratc  introduction  you  p'utlemen  have 
</iven  inc.  that  1  feel  altogether  inadequate  to  the 
occasion,  i  I  am  already  talked  out,  and  I'm 

afraid  I  am/)//  out,  too.  I've  plowed  and  thrilled, 
and  thrilled  and  plowed,  in  spite  of  Robert's  fool- 
erics,  till  I  can  irlow  and  thrill  no  longer,  even  at 
such  a  scene  as  this.  It  seems  to  me  less  modern 
than  almost  anything  else  we've  seen.  Tho>e  odd, 
warlike  little  castles  bristling  on  those  rocks,  scowl 
ing  so  anirrily  down  on  that  Arcadian  valley,  carry 
UK;  back  to  the  Dark  A;. 

The  word  "Arcadian"  roused  her  father's  ire. 
"'Arcadian!'"  he  snarled,  "of  all  the  swindling  - 

"Order!"  .-limited  (irillin. 

"Papa  i-  ]>•  ri'ectly  in  order,"  raid  Madeline,  "I've 
finished  my  addr 

"Of  all  swindling,  classical  humbug,  that  word  is 
the  meanest  !  AVhat  is  Arcadia  but  a  miserable  mias 
matic  swamp  '.  What  are  the  Arcadian  shepherd- 
that  so  much  line  poetry  is  written  about  but  a  : 
of  lyin^,  thievinir,  laxy,  squalid  scoundrels,  that  ou^ht 
to  be  guillotined  without  mercv '.  Oh,  /'/',•  seen 
'em!"  ' 

"  Aah,"  ])rotest(Ml  Tsiiras.  "you  spik  {injustice, 
Monsieur  Paul.  You  have  sin  onlee  the  Ka.-t,  which 
is  mar.-h.  You  mils'  visit  the  AVestern  Arcadia.  It 
is  no  JStymphaalian  marsh  there.  .Monsieur  Paul,  but 


44 

mountains  ami  noble  forest.  It  is  laike  the  S \vitz'- 
land.  In  tlio  Western  Arcadia  a  rude  but  manly 
raiice  keeped  tlicir  lienl  of  sheeps,  and  they  hunted 
the  bears,  too,  also.  Arcadia  have  dernive  his  naiiine 
from  tho>e  bears.  You  remember  the  stoary,  Mon 
sieur  Paul  '(— 

"  '  Catti-i<!>>  .  1  rr<nli»x  i  /•/•///•»  rut  ursa  per  agrosS  " 

"No,  I  don't  recall  it  at  this  moment,"  replied  the 
major,  winking  at  Madeline. 

"  The  Arcadian  pipple,"  resumed  Tsaras,  "  were  a 
hardee  pipple.  They  lived  upon  the  acorns  and  the 
flesh  of  the  pig,  and  although  they  haved  not  the  cn- 
t'rgee  and  the  enterpraise,  they  were  ver'  strong  in 
their  bodee.  They  were  ver'  tempcraiite,  too,  also. 
A  fountain  was  at  Kleitor  which  maiikc  them  to  haiite 
the  wines." 

"I  shall  be  careful  how  I  drink  at  Arcadian  fount 
ains,"  muttered  Griffin. 

"  Their  bes'  young  men  refused  to  dwell  in  Arca 
dia  in  so  simple  laife — but  they  went  'way  to  other 
Htailte,  and  they  faighted  with  the  both  saides  when  it 
was  war." 

"  Are  those  little  castles  the  former  strongholds  of 
the  klephts  f  asked  Madeline,  "or  were  they  to  pro 
tect  honest  people  from  them  ?" 

"No,  Miss  Paul.  The  klephts  were  never  in  per 
manent  dwelling,  and  they  never  caame  ver'  mooch 
down  here.  Those  castles  were  builted  in  those  un 
settle  taimes  when  every  man  look  upon  every  man 
laikc  the  assassin.  You  see  each  of  those  castles  are 


THK    TA':  .j:, 

rock  elevaate — lie  is  on  a  akropolis  by  his  own 
i   perfect  illustraation  of  the  media-- 
val  feudal  systems.      Kach  of  those  little  white  cas 
tles  are  baronial  castles  in  the  miniaature.'' 
••  I  low  romantic !" 

••  And  those,"  said  Griffin, nodding  towards  a  party 
of  dirty,  ra^jvd    urchins,   who   had    been    •jratherin^ 
•let  anemones  by  the  way-side,  and  were  now  star 
ing  open-mouthed  at  tin-  pawing  cavalcade — ''those, I 

suppose,  are  some  of  the  Imrun*  in  miniature."' 
"  \'ea<;  I  tiling  it  is,  Monsieur  (Jrilliu." 
••  I-  there  no  need  of  Hich  stroiiirholds  nowadays  C 
puivued  .Madeline.    "Are  tin  •  ill  feuds  anioii^ 

muLrh  people  ?" 

MNo    more    feud   than    it   is    feud   in   your   coun- 
tree." 

me  handy,  thoiiirh,"  d    Major 

I'aul,  "if  i:  ;il«l   be  an   inva-ioii    of   northern 

klephts,  wouldn't  they  '." 
"  F  do  not  know  *  hand' 
•  I  "-ei'ul,  convenient." 
••  Aah.  yeafl.     They  would  be  ver'  useful." 
Here  Aunt  Kli/.a  bu-tled  up,  and  irave  ^i^ns  that 
.^lie  had  something  to  say,    T.-;ira>  turned  to  her  with 

•  •ctful  inquiry. 

"  You  really  think,  Profcssov  T-iiras,  that  there  i< 

no  probability  of  our  meeting  any  brigands,  do  you  ;" 

"  JJri^ands  '.      No.  1cut-<if~ii ;  no  brigands  are  in  the 

18.      If  they  are  here,  they  would  be  afraaid 

La  with  the  e  .re  than  we  would  be  afraaid 

at  them." 


46  A   DEMIGOD. 

"  One  sight  of  aunty's  seven-shooter  would  scatter 
'era,"  said  Griffin,  with  an  exasperating  grin. 

"I  sincerely  hope  there  will  be  no  test  of  the 
courage  of  any  of  us,"  retorted  Aunt  Eliza,  with  a 
scornful  sniff. 

"I  don't  know.  I  believe  I  should  rather  like  the 
chance  of  bagging  a  brace  or  two  of  such  game." 

"  It  does  not  occur  to  you,"  put  in  Madeline,  u  that 
yon  might  possibly  be  bagged  yourself." 

"  Well,  I  should  die  in  a,  noble  cause.  I  should 
make  a  handsome  corpus,  shouldn't  I  ?  Imagine  me 
with  my  marble  features  turned  up  to  the  stars,  like  a 
dismantled  Greek  statue.  How  would  this  style  do  ?" 

He  threw  his  head  back  and  closed  his  eyes,  purs 
ing  his  lips  into  a  cupid's  bow. 

"  Robert !"  cried  Madeline,  angrily. 

"And  you  would  shed  a  silent  tear  or  two  over 
my  grave,  wouldn't  you,  cousin  dear  ?" 

"  I  suppose  you  expect  me  to  be  overwhelmed  with 
horror  and  admiration,  but  I'm  not  in  the  least. 
You  think  your  talk  sounds  brave,  but  it  doesn't — it 
only  sounds  brutal  and  disgustingly  shallow.  I  know 
very  well  you  don't  want  to  die  any  more  than  the 
rest  of  us.  You  wouldn't  joke  much  if  the  brigands 
should  really  come.  I'll  warrant  you'd  be  the  very 
first  to  run." 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  am  a  little  ashamed  of  my  her 
oine's  sharpness  of  tongue.  But  what  can  I  do? 
She's  a  true  daughter  of  her  father,  and  everybody 
knows  lie  has  the  best,  warmest  heart  in  the  world, 
rave  he  or  storm  he  never  so  fiercely. 


THE   TAYGETUS.  47 

Griffin's  good-nature  was  usually  imperturbable ; 
but  this  tirade,  particularly  the  closing  taunt,  ap 
peared  to  penetrate  his  thick  armor.  Without  a 
word  in  reply,  he  rode  forward  and  joined  the  gens- 
<r<trines,  with  whom  he  remained  for  hours.  Made 
line  gradually  became  pensive.  Her  answers  to 
Aunt  Eliza  became  more  and  more  short  and  irrele 
vant.  Finally  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I'm  very 
sorry  I  called  him  a  coward.  We  women  don't  real 
ize  how  sensitive  they  are  on  that  point." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  don't  fret  your  heart  about  that. 
He'll  be  back  here  soon,  frivolous  as  ever.  To  tell 
the  truth,  I  shouldn't  be  sorry  if  you  had  given  him 
his  quietus  for  a  while.  I'm  tired  of  his  twitter- 
twatter." 

"Don't  be  ungrateful,"  returned  Madeline,  blazing 
up.  "  We  should  all  have  been  stupid  enough  with 
out  him." 

The  progress  of  the  cavalcade  through  the  valley 
created  an  intense  excitement  among  its  rural  deni 
zens.  The  farmer  left  his  plough,  which,  judged 
from  its  appearance,  might  have  been  the  very  one 
left  by  Cincinnatus  in  its  furrow  ;  the  housewife  left 
her  loaves,  the  washer-woman  left  her  linen  by  the 
riverside,  and  one  and  all  came  running  to  see  the 
strangers,  to  ask  who  and  what  they  were,  whence 
they  came,  whither  they  were  going,  and  wherefore. 
Among  the  men  there  were  some  of  magnificent 
physique.  It  would  not  have  been  difficult  to  fancy 
these  the  lineal  descendants  of  the  famous  Three 
4 


A   DEMIGOD. 

Hundred,  had  it  not  been  for  their  speech,  which  was 
the  exact  reverse  of  "  Laconic." 

"Do  you  suppose  your  famous  Hector  Vyr,  that 
we've  heard  so  much  about,  is  any  liner  follow  than 
one  of  these  i"1  asked  Madeline  of  Professor  Tsjira-. 

"Oh  yeas,  Miss  Paul.  Hector  Vyr  is  a  Ixixlliax 
in  compare  to  them.  lie  is  a  maighty  bodee ;  he  is 
a  maighty  intellects ;  he  is  ver'  gret  beautee,  laiko 
to  those  statues  of  old  (I recce." 

"  Dear  me  !  We  must  not  fail  to  find  him,  on  any 
consideration  whatever." 

"  Aah,  we  shall  not  faind  him.  He  would  run  away 
from  ns,  laike  as  he  is  a  waild  man  of  the  forest." 

'•  Then  we  must  run  after  him,  and  capture  him 
for  the  Zoological  Museum  at  Central  Park." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  I  thing  you  capture  him,  Miss  Paul. 
Not  any  other  shall  capture  him." 

The  women  in  the  crowd,  as  a  rule,  looked  stunted 
and  labor-worn  ;  but  no  amount  of  oppression  and 
fatigue  could  mitigate  their  ceaseless  chatter. 

AVhen  they  halted  for  supper  in  a  valley  bright 
with  oleanders,  Griffin  had  evidently  forgotten  his 
pique.  He  seasoned,  with  his  usual  amount  of  fun, 
the  luxurious  meal  of  bread,  fresh  goat's  milk,  and 
new  cheese  curd.  In  the  cool  of  the  evening  he  and 
Madeline  strolled  up  the  side  of  a  savage  hill,  furred 
with  little  pines  and  bristling  armies  of  thistles. 
The  great,  ugly  blossoms  of  tall  hollyhocks,  growing 
wild,  stared  at  them  from  the  way-side.  Here  and 
there  on  the  naked  rocks  they  found  the  flowers  of 
the  caper-vine. 


4!) 

"Did  you  enjoy  y»ur  talk   with  the   guards  this 
•.•noun,  Robert  ?"  Madeline  asked,  critically  exam 
ining  one  of  the  wonderful  ilowers  last  named,  which 
lie  had  plucked  for  her. 

"  Very  much.  We  found  each  other  quite  enter 
taining."1 

"  What  could  you  lind  to  say  for  so  lon^  a  time  ?" 

"<>h,  there  were  ]>K'n!y  of  tiling  to  talk  about. 
They  told  me  all  about  the  discipline  in  the  (I reek 
army,  and  their  scrimmages  with  the  klephi  .  A" 
cording  to  their  account  of  themselves,  we  have  some 
of  the  greatest  heroes  in  the  world  for  our  escort.  I 
wasn't  pi ne  so  very  lonir,  was  I  .'" 

"  Nearly  three  hour.-."1 

"Oh  no:  impossible.  It  couldn't  have  been  more 
than  two.  You  ou-'ht  to  be  thankful  for  even  that 
relief.''  There  was  a  sliirhi  perceptible  tremor  in  his 
voice. 

••  Robert, ".burst  out  Madeline,  patting  her  hand 

oil  his  arm,  "  1  want  you  to  forgive  me  for  bein^  so 
unkind  and  unjust  to  you  to-day." 

"Nonsense.  .Madp-.  Who  said  you  we're  unkind 
or  unjust  ?" 

"  Not  you.  Y«.;i  arc'  only  too  indulgent.  It  is  my 
own  conscience  that  upbraids  me." 

"Tell  your  conscience  to  keep  the  peace.  What 
business  is  it  of  hers,  anyway?  If  you  and  I  can't 
have  a  comfortable,  friendly  little  spat  without  her 
interference,  it's  time  she  packed  up  and  went 
home." 

"Well,   that's    like    vou,    Robert.       With    all    my 


50  A  DEMIGOD. 

fa  tilt -finding  of  you,  you  have  one  great,  admi 
rable  virtue  which  far  outweighs  all  my  lesser 
ones." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  none  of  that.  I  know  what  I 
am  as  well  as  you.  I  know  I'm  a  coarse-grained, 
irreverent  chap,  without  a  particle  of  poetry  or  sen 
timent  in  my  composition.  I  know  how  I  ride 
rough-shod  over  all  your  finest  fancies,  and  continu 
ally  break  up  your  poetic  rhapsodies  with  my  ill- 
timed  nonsense.  But  what  can  I  do,  Madge?  I 
can't  very  well  change  my  nature.  You  may  have 
heard  a  recondite  remark  in  reference  to  the  leopard 
and  the  Ethiopian,  which  applies  to  my  case.  If  it 
were  not  for  you,  I  don't  know  as  I  would  care  to 
change  my  spots.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  am 
happy  enough  as  I  am.  There's  an  awful  lot  of 
drudgery  in  becoming  what  you  call  'highly  culti 
vated,'  and  I  am  essentially  and  congenitally  lazy. 
As  I  have  often  told  you,  I  hate  work  of  all  kinds. 
Why  shouldn't  I  ?  Doesn't  Sir  William  Hamilton 
call  work  pain?  What's  the  nigger's — I  beg  your 
pardon  —  what's  the  negro's  ideal  of  paradise?  A 
place  from  whence  all  kinds  of  labor  are  banished, 
like  foul  fiends  from  the  Christian's  paradise.  And, 
by  the  same  token,  is  the  Christian's  ideal  very  dif 
ferent  ?  '  He  has  gone  to  his  eternal  rest?  I  believe, 
is  the  favorite  epitaph." 

"  Oh,  Robert,  can't  you  talk  a  single  hour  without 
being  sacrilegious  ?" 

"  I  assure  you  nothing  was  farther  from  my  inten 
tion.  Isn't  what  I  say  true?  Don't  they  say,  'His 


THE  TAYGETUS.  51 

labors  arc  over?'  Haven't  you  always  been  taught 
that  heaven  is  an  eternal  Sabbath  of  rest  ?" 

"  Rest  from  trials  and  sufferings,  that  means — not 
rest  from  labors — that  is,  occupations." 

"  Well,  labors  and  sufferings  are  synonymous  terms 
with  me.  It  has  always  been  so,  and  I  am  afraid  it 
always  will.  I  was  always  at  the  very  foot  of  my 
class  in  college  —  not,  I  flatter  myself,  from  any 
marked  deficiency  in  natural  parts,  but  from  sheer, 
dogged  laziness.  How  in  the  world  I  picked  up  the 
smattering  I  have  of  Greek  and  Latin  is  really  a 
mystery,  for  I  do  not  remember  ever  studying  a 
lesson  in  my  life." 

"Exaggeration  always  weakens,"  interrupted  Mad 
eline. 

"  I  used  the  word  '  study '  in  its  true  sense.  I  say 
I  always  hated  work  and  always  shall.  And  of  all 
kinds  of  work,  'self-cultivation"  is,  by  all  odds,  the 
hardest.  I  suppose,  if  I  could  only  make  up  my 
mind  to  the  effort,  I  might  in  time  be  able  to  work 
myself  up  to  the  pitch  of  appreciating  the  Parthe 
non  and  that  old  decayed  Church  of  St.  Nicholas  as 
you  do.  But  heavens!  think  of  the  labor.  Imagine 
the  subtle,  endless  pain  Phidias  must  have  endured 
before  he  was  able  to  design  his  statues  and  his  tem 
ples,  with  their  Ionic  curves  and  their  aerial  perspec 
tive!  Imagine  the  mental  tortures  •which  have  spun 
out  the  Concord  Philosophy,  whatever  that  may  be!" 

"It  is  all  a  mistake,  Robert,"  replied  Madeline, 
earnestly,  "a  tremendous  mistake.  It  is  not  true 
that  all  kinds  of  labor  are  painful.  There  is  a  vast 


52  A    DEMIGOD. 

difference  between  the  labor  of  the  negro  slave  and 
that  of  Phidias  and  the  Concord  philosophers, — 
though  I  don't  profess  to  know  anything  of  them 
except  by  reputation." 

Robert  laughed. 

"  "Well,  what  amuses  you  ?" 

"  Nobody  seems  ashamed  of  his  ignorance  on  that 
subject.  Even  you  hastened  to  assure  me  of  your 
ignorance,  as  if  you  were  afraid  I  should  think  you 
did  understand  them." 

"Why  do  you  say  'even'  I?  Have  I  impressed 
you  as  a  Blue  Stocking?"  asked  Madeline,  quickly. 

"  Not  in  the  least,  my  dear  cousin ;  that  is,  not 
disagreeably.  I  have  always  been  a  humble  admirer 
of  your  accomplishments — your  musical  skill,  your 
knack  at  verse-making,  your  exquisite  appreciation 
of  art  and  nature,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  I  am  afraid  your  admiration  has  been  cheaply 
earned.  But  I  want  to  tell  you  that  whatever  of 
such  things  I  have  has  been  acquired  without  any 
thing  like  what  you  call  painful  drudgery.  I  have 
been  conscious  only  of  pleasure." 

"  Oh,  well,"  rejoined  Robert,  as  he  carelessly  sent 
a  flat  stone  skimming  over  the  low  trees  down  the 
slope,  "you  -were  born  so,  I  wasn't.  That's  the  dif 
ference." 

"  No,"  protested  Madeline  ;  "  the  difference  is  not 
so  much  a  natural  one  as  it  is  a  different  way  of 
looking  at  things.  It  is  more  a  difference  of  opinion 
than  of  nature.  You  and  I  have  conceived  different 
notions  of  the  values  of  things,  that's  all.  But  I  say 


TIIK  FAYGETCS.  53 

again  to  yon,  Robert,  and  most  solemnly,  that  you 
have  made  a  great  mistake.  You  don't  know  how 
much  you  lose  of  the  best  and  sweetest  things  in 
life  by  your  habit  of  viewing  everything  in  either 
a  ludicrous  or  what  you  are  pleased  to  call  a  sensi 
ble  light.  If  I  could  only  change  your  opinions,  I 
should  have  no  fears  for  the  result." 

"Well,"1  sighed  Robert,  violently  switching  off  a 
big  thistle-top  with  his  walking-stick,  "perhaps  you 
are  right.  As  T  have  told  yon  several  times,  I  don't, 
pretend  to  understand  myself  very  well — the  subject 
is  too  deep  for  my  limited  comprehension." 

••  And  so  our  talk  must  end  in  a  stupid  old  joke!'' 
cried  Madeline,  provoked  and  disappointed. 

'•Heigh-ho,  didn't  1  tell  you  1  was  incorrigible? 
You  can't  carve  a  marble  statue  out  of  a  block  of 
pumice-stone.  But  tell  me,  Madge,"  he  said,  his 
whole  manner  suddenly  changing,  "  is  it  going  to 
make  any  difference  in  our — in  your —  Sha'n't  you 
me  just  as  well  C 

Madeline  clasped  his  arm  affectionately  with  both 
her  hands.  ••  You  are  my  own  dear  cousin  Robert," 
she  said  ;  "  and  I  love  you  for  your  good  heart,  your 
inexhaustible  good-nature,  your  patience  under  my 
numerous  provocations.  But,  as  for —  it  is  as  I  have 
always  told  you,  Robert." 

He  shook  off  her  hands'  angrily.  "  And  so,  because 
I  can't  go  into  raptures  over  a  rotten  old  church,  or 
write  idiotic  sonnets  to  the  moon,  you  can't  return 
as  true  a  love  as  a  man  ever  offered!" 

"No,  Robert,  it  is  not  that.      Can't  you  believe 


54  A   DEMIGOD. 

me  a  sensible  woman  ?  I  know  how  little  poetry  and 
all  that  have  to  do  with  real  life — but  i><><  ti'ij  is  not 
the  only  thing  you  have  just  acknowledged  that  you 
have  no  taste  for.  You— 

She  was  about  to  say  a  very  pertinent  but  humili 
ating  thing,  but  her  good  heart  forbade,  at  that  time, 
at  least.  "  If  I  could  feel  towards  you  as  you  wish," 
she  went  on,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "  I  solemnly 
assure  you  that  our  differences  of  opinion  on  any  sub 
ject  would  not  make  the  least  real  difference." 

"Jfyou.  could — but  it  is  those  very  differences  that 
prevent  you,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Your  peculiar  tastes  and  inclina 
tions — you  can  hardly  expect  me  to  sympathize  with 
the ) n,  can  you?" 

"  I  understand  you  perfectly,"  he  answered,  bitter 
ly.  "  You  could  trust  your  future  to  an  unrornantic 
man,  but  not  to  a  lazy  one.  You  are  right.  Adver 
sity  might  come.  Riches  have  wings.  Yes,  you  are 
sensible,  Madeline  Paul,  eminently  sensible.  Oh, 
what  a  fool  I  have  been  !  what  a  consummate  fool !" 

"  You  read  me  with  your  own  sordid  mind,"  re 
torted  Madeline,  turning  pale  in  the  twilight.  "If 
your  riches  were  multiplied  tenfold,  and  I  knew  with 
positive  certainty  that  they  would  increase  hour  by 
hour  to  the  day  of  your  death,  I  would  not  trust  you 
with  my  future !" 

She  stepped  haughtily  in  advance.  Griffin  fol 
lowed,  silently  and  dejectedly  whipping  off  the  this 
tle-tops  with  his  stick.  Thus  they  walked  on  till 
they  came  to  the  steep,  rocky  bed  of  a  cataract,  now 


THE   TAYGETUS.  55 

dry,  lying  directly  in  tlicir  patli.     lie  sprung  to  her 
-tance.     As  lie  did  so,  she  caught  the  mournful 
pathos  in  his  face  and  mien,  and  her  heart  swelled. 

"Oh,  liobert !"  she  burst  forth,  "I  love  you  dcar- 
Iv.  and  we  might  be  so  happv  together,  if  you  only 
would." 

"It  isn't  the  kind  of  love  I  want,"  lie  replied, 
hoarsely.  "Give  me  time,  Madge.  I  will  change. 
I  promise  it.  You'll  see  a  dill'erent  man  in  me — 
only  give  me  time — and  hope." 

She  shook  her  head  sadly,  pityingly. 

"  Then  I — "  he  began  in  a  loud,  fierce  tone,  but 
instantly  checked  himself.  They  returned  without 
another  word  to  the  encampment. 

This  consisted  of  a  humble  <;ni/,<t  built  of  stones, 
and  partly  covered  by  an  awning  of  black  goat's-hair 
cloth,  in  which  Miss  Wellington  (Aunt  Klixa)  and 
-Madeline  were  quartered.  A  few  feet  distant  from 
the  ctijimt  a  large  lire  was  kindled,  fresh  boughs  of 
spruce-fir  were'  brought  as  an  under-matt ress  for  the 
beds,  and  on  these  the  men  of  the  party  stretched 
themselves,  iu  the  pure,  dewless  air,  cooled  by  the 
snows  of  the  mountains  and  perfumed  by  the  fra 
grance  of  the  valley,  under  a  sky  so  clear  that  the 
stars  scarcely  twinkled.  The  only  sounds  that  broke 
the  stillness  of  evening  were  the  tinkling  of  distant 
sheep-bells,  the  reeds  of  shepherds,  the  soft,  clear 
notes  of  the  cuckoo,  and  the  "  br<  k>  k<  /.•<'./•  £000, 
of  the  frogs  in  the  depth  of  the  valley. 


50  A   DEMIGOD. 


V. 

THE    BRIGANDS. 

WHAT  unhappy  wight  is  that  who  hath  never 
breathed  the  air  of  morning  in  the  mountains,  hav 
ing  slept  in  the  open  air?  Let  him  not  die  until  he 
hath  tasted  this  most  dainty  tidbit  at  the  banquet  of 
nature.  Till  then,  he  shall  not  know  the  full  extent 
of  his  own  capacity  for  the  enjoyment  of  his  physi 
cal  senses.  Till  then,  he  shall  never  know  how  blue 
and  purple  and  golden  is  the  sky,  how  green  is  the 
grass,  how  white  is  the  snow,  how  sparkling  are  the 
waters — nor  how  clear  are  his  own  eyes,  how  keen 
his  ears,  how  elastic  his  lungs,  how  resounding  his 

t  O    i  O 

voice,  how  bounding  his  step. 

Till  they  had  experienced  this  rare  pleasure,  our 
travellers  certainly  had  never  known  what  an  ex 
quisite  flavor  there  is  to  crisp  toast  and  broiled  lamb, 
or  what  an  utterly  insignificant  task  it  is  to  break 
camp  and  resume  a  difficult,  dangerous  journey. 

They  passed  through  a  succession  of  olive  orchards, 
currant  plantations,  vineyards,  and  wheat-fields  whose 
dark-red  loam  was  just  beginning  to  turn  green.  In 
the  glens  were  little  groves  of  oleander  and  myrtle. 
Sage,  wild  thyme,  and  mastic  shrub  thinly  covered 
the  "stony  shoulders  of  the  hills."  At  short  inter- 


THK  J;I;I<;A\I>S.  .-,7 

vals  they  halted  by  tlie  side  of  little  streams  to  rest 
and  water  their  animals,,  while  Aunt  Eliza  and  Made 
line  plucked  bouquets  of  crocuses  and  violets,  and 
listened  to  the  loud  song  of  the  nightingale  and  the 
softer,  more  musical  notes  of  the  blackbird. 

(Jradually  the  country  became  wilder.  Cultivated 
fields  disappeared,  and  only  an  occasional  hut  of 
stones  and  mud  gave  evidence  of  human  occupation, 
far  from  noon  they  came  to  a  village  of  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  of  these  huts.  From  his  gestures  and 
manner  with  certain  of  their  tenants  Tsaras  appeared 
to  be  inquiring  his  route.  The  fact  that  the  answer 
ing  hands  pointed  in  different  directions  was  not  re- 
iring,  and,  although  Major  Paul  and  his  party  had 
bv  this  time  become  somewhat  inured  to  the  prevail 
ing  (livek  custom  of  misdirecting  and  misstating  dis 
tances,  they  began  to  be  seriously  alarmed.  In  reply 
to  the  major's  questions,  however,  the  guide  said 
there  was  no  cause  for  anxiety ;  he  knew  perfectly 
well  what  he  was  about.  Jjut  the  path  grew  still 
narrower  and  more  obstructed  by  branches  and  un 
dergrowth,  and  finally  divided  into  two  branches 
equally  worn,  or  rather  ///Avorn,  by  travel.  Tsaras. 
and  £he  commander  of  the  escort  began  to  wrangle 
on  the  question  which  of  these  branches  to  take. 
Major  Paul  promptly  ordered,  Kight  about,  march. 

Tsa  ras  remonstrated. 

The  major  repeated  his  order  more  peremptorily. 

Tsaras  entreated. 

The  major  got  thoroughly  angry,  and  stormed  the 
little  guide  into  silence  and  acquiescence. 


58  A    DEMIGOD. 

r>u t  it  proved  easier  to  order  a  return  than  to  exe 
cute  the  order.  After  a  while  they  failed  to  recog 
nize  objects  which  they  passed.  The  path  became 
more  and  more  difficult,  and  at  last  merged  into  a 
Hume  of  blue  limestone,  which  led — no  one  knew 
whither.  A  little  distance  at  one  side  of  the  flume 
was  the  sharp  edge  of  a  precipice  overhanging  a 
frightful  chasm,  to  glance  into  which  took  the  breath 
away  and  made  the  heart  stand  still,  No  one — guide, 
escort,  or  tourist — could  longer  doubt  the  trutli — 

They  were  lost  in  the  mountains! 

The  rich  color  faded  from  Madeline's  cheek ;  but 
her  mind  was  soon  diverted  from  her  own  situation 
by  the  greater,  or  at  least  more  demonstrative,  terror 
of  Aunt  Eliza.  Griffin,  who  had  all  day  been  sullen 
and  taciturn,  was  the  only  one  who  remained  cool 
and  collected.  Major  Paul  bore  down  upon  the  woe 
begone  guide  like  a  centaur  charging  in  battle. 

"You  infernal  scoundrel!"  he  roared,  "what  do 
you  mean  by  getting  us  into  this  scrape?  Didn't 
you  tell  me  you  had  been  over  the  route  C ' 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  Paul,  I  beseech  you  not  spik  so 
loud.  I  have  been  over  the  route — but — but — but — 
it  have  been  changes.  The  path  is  no  more  laike  as 
lie  was.  I  tzwear  to  you,  Monsieur  Paul,  I  have 
done  the  ver'  bes'  that  I  was  aiible — by  my  honor, 
Monsieur  Paul,  I  tzwear !" 

"Done  the  best  you  were  able!  Idiot!  Why 
didn't  you  stay  at  home?  That  would  have  been  the 
best  you  were  able,  you  gesticulating,  speech-making, 
Homer-quoting  ass !" 


THE   BRIGANDS.  OU 

r>ut  fury  and  resonant  reproaches  promised  no 
help.  A  council  was  held,  in  which  it  was  decided 
that  two  of  the  fjcns-<I'<ii'in>  *  should  ride  pos 

sible  up  the  flume,  then  dismount  and  make  their 
way  on  foot  until  they  could  command  the  widest 
";>lc  view  of  the  surrounding  country. 

The  scouts  had  scarcely  disappeared,  and  the  rest 
of  the  party  were  disposing  themselves  as  comfort 
ably  as  possible  to  await  their  return,  when  a  tall 
figure  stepped  forth  from  the  bushes  and  advanced 
leisurely  towards  them. 

It  was  a  man  of  thirty-five  or  forty,  dressed  in  the 
Albanian  costume— jacket  and  i'ustanelli  of  coarse 
white  woollen  stuiT,  and  leggings  of  leather.  From 
his  bare  head  hung  two  heavy  braids  of  shining  black 
hair.  His  face  was  swarthy,  and  ornamented  with  a 
jetty  musta'-he.  lie  was  armed  with  a  pair  of  silver- 
mounted  pistols  and  a  yataghan.  As  he  advanced 
he  extended  his  arms  and  called  out  in  a  clear,  ring 
ing  voice, 

••  ]\'<il,'x  orizeU  /" 

"!!«•  Bays4  \\rclcome,'"  explained  Tsaras,  in  a  low, 
trembling  tone. 

The  four  gen+4l?<HnMl  nnslung  their  carbines  and 
brought  them  to  their  shoulders. 

"  Alt !"  (halt),  ordered  the  lieutenant. 

M  h'i/fl.i.i-,*  pfoo  sou!"  (look  behind  you),  replied 
the  strangi-r. 

.X.»t  thirty  yards  distant  the  gcns-(]\trmes  and  their 
party  saw  a  score  of  dark  faces  glaring  over  the  thick 
bushes,  each  behind  a  long  black  tube. 


A   DEMIGOD. 

"Robbers,    by    gorry  P    ejaculated    Major    Paul, 
springing    to    his    feet    and    drawing    his    revo! 
"Madeline,  my  girl,  conic  lierc." 

But  the  more  alert  (Jrillin  was  already  beside  the 
t\vo  women,  whom  lie  was  apparently  trying  to  form 
into  a  hollow  square. 

The  brigand,  coming  still  nearer,  spoke  a  few 
words,  which  Tsiiras  translated  as  follows: 

"Throw  down  your  arms,  and  you  shall  not  be 
harmed.  Attempt  to  fire,  and  that  instant  every 
man  dies,  and  the  women  are  our  prisoners." 

The  order  was  sullenly  obeyed. 

The  brigand  stood  motionless  a  few  seconds,  then 
made  an  impatient  gesture. 

'•What  are  your  commands?"  asked  the  lieuten 
ant. 

"Make  the  woman  give  up  that  pistol,  or  take  it 
from  her." 

Aunt  Eliza  still  grasped  her  tiny  weapon,  her 
white  lips  pressed  together  in  desperate  determina 
tion. 

"It's  of  no  use,"  said  Madeline,  wonder-struck  at 
her  own  calmness.  "  They  have  us  at  their  mercy." 
She  disengaged  the  pistol  from  the  thin,  nervous 
hand,  which  yielded  mechanically  to  her  gentle  force, 
and  threw  it  on  the  ground  with  the  rest  of  the  sur 
rendered  arms. 

In  the  mean  time  the  brigands,  twenty  strong, 
closed  in  around  their  prisoners,  shouting,  "  Zito  /" 
(huzzah),  and  manifesting  in  a  hundred  ways  exul 
tation  over  their  bloodless  victory. 


Till-:   UKIt!A>  61 

They  were.  f<>r  tlir  most  part,  vigorous  youn^  ras 
cals,  dressed  like  their  leader,  save  that  some  of  them 
Wore  r-ha^iry  capotes.  They  speedily  relieved  their 
prisoners  <>f  their  watches  and  purses,  ordered  them 
to  ivmount,  and  hurried  them  alon<^  the  rocky  path 
way  formed  by  the  tlnme,  five  or  six  brigands  bein^ 
•  in  advance  to  intercept  the  two  gtns-d'arm**  wiio 
were  acting  as  scouts. 

The  chief  soon  opened  a  conversation  with  Major 
Paul,  with  the  aid  of  Tsaras. 

"  You  BOO,"  lie  h'-iraii,  "that  we  are  well  acquaint 
ed  with  your  movrmrnts.  We  had  the  good-fortune 
to  hi'ar  of  your  intended  viVit." 

"Through  the  (Greek  <  iovernment,  no  doubt,"  rc- 
])lied  the  major,  blazing  with  unutterable  scorn  and 
fury. 

"Oh  no,  my  good  friend.  Yon  must  not  blame 
the  (iovernment.  It  was  one  of  the  (Government's 
metscngen  that  informed  us — and  he  not  <''t!lin<fly, 
bv  anv  means.  The  poor  </,/</<r.",,*  could  not  help 

himself." 

The  major  uttered  an  inarticulate  <^ro\vl. 

"We  have  been  following  you  for  the  last  four 
hours,''  the  brigand  went  on.  "  You,  I  prc>ume,  arc 
liis  nobility,  the  American  /i*/y//V'//  Paulf 

"  Miijor,  damn  your  impudence!"  (It  is  hardly 
necessary  to  state  that  the  less  conciliatory  pa>sauvs 
in  the  major's  remarks  were  translated  with  coii-id- 
vrable  freedom  by  the  less  impetuous,  more  politic 
interpreter,  i  "And  now  perhaps  you  will  condescend 
to  tell  me  what  ou  are  oinir  to  do  with  us  '.' ' 


C3  A   DEMIGOD. 

"  Oh,  you  will  know  in  good  time,  your  nobility. 
But  don't  be  uneasy.  Make  yourselves  perfectly 
happy  ;  we  shall  treat  you  like  princes." 

"  That's  the  very  thing  we  are  afraid  of,"  inter 
posed  Griffin,  who  rode  immediately  behind.  "  But 
tell  him,  Charley,  that  we  are  no  princes.  We  are 
simple  American  citizens  in  extremely  humble  cir 
cumstances." 

"  Yes,"  added  the  major,  with  majestic  anger,  "and 
they  will  have  to  answer  to  the  American  Govern 
ment — tell  him  that,  too,  Tsaras — a  government  that 
can  depopulate  this  whole  worm-eaten  frontier  of 
hell  in  a  week !" 

"  Ah,  you  refer  us  to  the  American  Government. 
We  shall  be  happy  to  negotiate  with  so  noble  and 
famous  a  nation.  I  am  sure  they  will  show  a  liber 
ality  worthy  of  their  wealth  and  glory.  England, 
France,  Germany — all  the  great  nations — are  always 
ready  to  pay  our  price  for  the  sake  of  relieving  their 
valuable  citizens  from  embarrassment.  But  I  beg 
your  pardon.  I  have  not  introduced  myself.  I  am 
the  Kapitdn  Peschino,  of  whom  you  have  doubtless 
heard.  No  ?  Alas,  such  is  glory !  I  supposed  ev 
erybody  knew  the  exploits  of  the  Kapitdn  Peschino." 

He  spoke  with  honest  chagrin. 

"Peschino?"  asked  Griffin,  as  if  suddenly  recol 
lecting. 

"Ah  yes;  you  have  heard  of  me,  Appente?" 

"Are  you  not  sometimes  called  his  Reverence, 
Father  Peschino  ?" 

"  No.     It  is  my  brother  you  arc  thinking  of.     He 


THE   BRIGANDS.  G3 

is  a  priest  at  MikroMaina.  It  is  not  strange,  how 
ever,  that  YOU  should  make  the  mistake — we  are  said 
to  be  very  much  alike." 

Poor  (.Trillin's  face  fell.  His  American  jokes  would 
all  be  lost  on  that  complacent  scoundrel. 

The  procession  rapidly  ascended  the  rocky  path 
way,  a  brigand  at  each  bridle,  until  the  report  of  fire 
arms  brought  them  to  a  sudden  halt. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  shouted  Peschino  to  his  men. 
"  They  have  found  the  two  soldiers.  Forward  !" 

They  soon  came  up  with  the  detachment.  Both 
g6ti&d*armes  and  one  brigand  were  wounded,  one  of 
the  former  badly.  Peschino  dressed  their  wounds 
with  considerable  surgical  skill,  graciously  accepting 
Madeline's  help.  He  then  called  up  two  of  the  un- 
woimded  soldiers. 

"Take  four  of  the  mules,  with  rations  for  tlvree 
days,  and  conduct  your  comrades  home.  Ivemind 
your  commandant  that  he  has  not  yet  sent  the  three 
thousand  drachmas  to  the  demarch  of  Mikro-Mainn, 
as  he  promised,  and  that  I  shall  hold  these  two  sol 
diers  till  he  does.  When  you  reach  the  base  of  the 
Hume  take  the  path  to  your  right — keep  always  to 
your  right,  and  you  will  easily  find  the  road  to  Mara- 
thonisi.  KaUm kdt&vodion  (farewell);  remember  to 
bathe  the  wounds  with  cold  water  every  hour — and 
may  (iod  send  speedy  healing!" 

The  march  was  then  resumed.  On  reaching  the 
upper  end  of  the  Hume,  they  struck  into  a  rough, 
stony  path,  which,  with  many  windings,  up  natural 
stair-ways,  over  narrow  bridges,  along  the  brink  of 


G4  A  DEMIGOD. 

frightful  precipices,  finally  brought  them  to  a  level 
open  space.  Here  they  found  a  large  flat  rock,  above 
which  rose  an  inaccessible  cliff,  divided  through  the 
middle  by  a  fissure  just  wide  enough  to  admit  of  the 
passage  of  one  mounted  man  at  a  time. 

This  was  evidently  the  gate-way  to  the  robbers' 
stronghold.  Within  they  were  absolutely  safe.  The 
heaviest  artillery  would  be  powerless  against  that 
eternal  masonry,  and  a  little  band  of  resolute  men 
could  hold  that  narrow  Thermopylae  against  any  num 
ber  of  enemies,  whom  it  would  be  but  sport  to  top 
ple  over  the  precipices  as  they  filed  slowly  up,  one 
by  one.  Should  the  garrison  weary  of  the  sport,  or 
should  provisions  become  scanty,  their  enemies  would 
find  their  stronghold  like  a  last  year's  bird's -nest. 
They,  with  their  prisoners,  should  the  latter  live  so 
long,  would  be  with  the  birds. 

The  brigands  now  busied  themselves  in  the  prep 
aration  of  a  sumptuous  meal,  obtained  chiefly  from 
the  contents  of  their  captives'  panniers.  Their  own 
contribution  consisted  of  three  or  four  fine  pheasants 
and  sundry  bottles  of  wine  (recmato\  which  would 
have  been  good  but  for  the  villanous  resin  with 
which  it  was  abundantly  spiced.  The  flat  rock 
formed  an  excellent  dining-table,  to  which  the  con 
fiscated  dishes  and  napkins  imparted  a  wonderfully 
civilized  air,  in  strange  contrast  with  its  wild  sur 
roundings.  The  stimulating  mountain  air,  together 
with  the  excitement  and  fatigue  they  had  undergone, 
gave  the  whole  party  a  sharp  appetite.  Hungry  and 
exhausted  soldiers  will  eat  voraciouslv  on  the  eve  of 


THE   BRIGANDS.  05 

the  bloodiest  battle.  So  our  unhappy  friends,  not 
withstanding  their  situation,  did  full  justice  to  the 
banquet. 

The  captors  were  exceedingly  jubilant  over  their 
ea.-y  and  complete  success,  and  they  took  the  utmost 
pains  to  entertain  their  "  guests,"  and  to  make  them 
forget  their  uncomfortable  predicament. 

The  meal  over,  the  brigands  sung  hilarious  songs 
in  rough  but  not  unmusical  voices.  Then  they  per 
formed  a  wild  Romaic  dance,  which  their  prisoners 
witnessed  with  something  akin,  at  least,  to  interest. 

"  "Well,  your  nobility,"  said  Peschino,  approaching 
with  the  interpreter,"!  trust  you  are  not  so  unhap 
py  as  you  expected  to  be." 

"  I  could  answer  you  better,"  replied  the  major, 
stiffly,  "if  I  knew  what  you  intended  to  do  with  us." 

"Ilavc  a  little  patience.  You  shall  know  all  in 
good  time.  In  the  mean  time,  neither  you  nor  your 
friends  shall  receive  anything  but  kindness  from  us. 
Cannot  you  judge  my  intentions  from  that?  For 
example,  I  am  going  to  allow  you  to  be  together  as 
if  you  were  at  your  own  houses.  Xo  one  shall  in 
trude  upon  your  privacy.  Is  not  that  a  comfort  to 
you?  How  do  I  know  what  plots  and  conspiracies 
you  will  hatch  out  among  yourselves  ?  Is  not  that  a 
favor  and  a  great  comfort  to  you  ?" 

"It  is  indeed,  Peschino,"  replied  the  major,  with 
a  long  breath  of  relief.  "I  thank  you  for  that  with 
my  whole  heart,  whatever  else  you  may  do.  But 
you  have  little  to  fear  from  the  plots  and  conspiracies 
of  two  weak  women  and  two  unarmed  men." 


66  A  DEMIGOD. 

'''•Three  unarmed  men,"  corrected  Tsaras,  with  a 
look  of  grieved  reproach  that  would  have  melted  a 
stone. 

"  Of  course,  of  course — three  unarmed  men."  But 
there  was  a  mental  reservation.  There  should  be  no 
interpreter  of  "plots  and  conspiracies"  admitted  to 
the  family  councils. 

As  if  to  prove  his  good  faith  at  once,  Peschino 
ordered  his  men  away  from  the  prisoners,  bidding 
them  keep  their  distance  on  peril  of  his  severe  dis 
pleasure. 

"  Now,  your  nobility,"  he  said,  with  a  magnani 
mous  wave  of  his  hand,  "  you  will  have  the  goodness 
to  excuse  me  for  a  time.  Should  you  desire  any 
thing,  it  will  be  easy  to  find  me."  lie  turned  to  the 
women,  placed  his  hand  on  his  heart,  bowed  pro 
foundly,  and  departed. 


VI. 

WITHOUT  THE   GATES. 

TSARAS,  too,  although  he  yearned  for  a  share  in 
their  mutual  condolence,  was  considerate  enough  to 
leave  the  family  by  themselves  around  the  flat  rock. 
Madeline  was  the  least  downcast  of  the  little  group. 
The  specious  courtesy  and  kindne&s  with  which  they 
had  been  treated  thus  far  made  her  comparatively 
cheerful  and  hopeful.  She  spoke  enthusiastically  of 
the  inestimable  privilege  they  were  then  enjoying, 


WITHOUT   TUK   GATES.  67 

none  of  the  brigands  being  in  sight,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  a  solitary  .sentinel  at  a  very  respectful  dis 
tance. 

"That  is  the  only  thing  that  surprises  me,"  an 
swered  her  father.  "I  expected  the  rascal  would 
keep  us  apart,  of  course,  until  after  the  'examina 
tion  '  he  has  promised.  Madeline,  have  you  any  idea 
what  I  am  worth  2" 

"  Ten  times  your  weight  in  diamonds !"  answered 
the  impulsive  girl,  in  whom  the  transition  from  de 
spair  to  hopefulness,  however  slight,  produced  a 
reaction  no  less  surprising  to  herself  than  to  the 
others. 

"I'm  afraid  you'd  find  it  hard  to  realize  that  amount 
on  the  property  in  the  market.  Come  here  and  kiss 
me,  you  little  Zouave.  Now  answer  my  question 
properly,  yon  good-for-nothing  rubbish.  Do  you 
know  how  much  I'm  worth  C 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  idea,  papa.  I  only  know 
that  we  have  everything  that  money  can  buy." 

"Eliza,  what  do  you  know  f 

".No  more  than  Aladeline  does,"  sobbed  the  poor 
lady,  raising  her  tear- disfigured  countenance.  "I 
wish,  with  all  my  heart,  I  didn't  know  as  much." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  can  trust  to  your  discretion  if 
you  should  be  questioned.  You  don't  know  any 
thing,  of  course,  Robert." 

"  Thank  you,  uncle,  you  are  pleased  to  be  compli 
mentary.'' 

"  "Well,  I  am  glad  you  people  can  joke,  I  am  sure," 
gaid  Aunt  Eliza,  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  reproach. 


68  A   DEMIGOD. 

"  I  have  always  thought  those  who  cannot  feel  are 
the  happiest." 

"Feel!"  cried  Robert,  "what's  the  use  of  feeling? 
We're  all  in  a  tremendous  scrape,  I'll  admit.  You 
and  Madge  ought  to  have  taken  Uncle  Warren's  and 
my  advice.  I  suppose  you  realize  that  now.  But 
crying  and  taking  on  forever  isn't  going  to  get  us 
out  of  the  scrape,  is  it  ?  Come,  aunty,  be  a  man  ! 
See  how  plucky  Madge  is.  She  believes,  as  I  do, 
that  we  are  coming  out  all  right. — What  do  I  know, 
uncle  ?  Why,  you  have  lately  failed,  haven't  you  ? 
You  are  reduced  to  the  most  abject  beggary." 

"  Not  too  strong,  my  dear  boy,"  replied  the  major, 
with  a  meagre  smile.  "  Beggars  don't  travel  all  over 
Europe  with  their  families  for  pleasure.  These  vil 
lains  are  not  fools." 

"  They  are  fools  enough  to  leave  us  to  concoct  our 
lies  in  private,  and  make  them  hang  together,"  re 
torted  Robert,  airily. 

"  Oh,  don't  call  them  by  that  name,"  piped  Aunt 
Eliza.  "There  is  no  occasion  for —  We  can  say 
everything  that  is  required  for  our  own  advantage 
and  still  adhere  to  the  strict  truth.  I  wouldn't  tell 
a  falsehood  even  to  save  my  life !" 

"How  about  the  rest  of  us?"  insisted  Robert. 
"Wouldn't  you  prevaricate  a  little  to  save  our 
lives?" 

"  No  good  ever  comes  from  evil." 

"  You  hear  her !"  Robert  exclaimed,  turning  indig 
nantly  to  the  other  two.  "  Shall  we  let  this  woman 
sacrifice  us  all  to  her  fanaticism  ?" 


WITHOUT   THE   GATES.  69 

"  You  do  your  own  duty,  and  trust  me  to  do  mine, 
^\Ir.  (.irillin  !"  retorted  Aunt  Kli/u,  forgetting  her  de 
spair  in  her  wrath. 

"  Didn't  you  just  say  that  you  wouldn't  tell  a — 

"Neither  shall  I.  I'm  not  obliged  to  utter  either 
truth  or  falsehood,  am  1  ?  All  the  robbers  in  Greece 
can't  make  me  speak  if  I  won't  /" 

"Brava!  I  apologize  most  humbly.  If  you  only 
won't  spoil  the  effect  of  my  lies,  I  shall  be  satisfied. 
Remember  all :  I  am  a  poor  devil  of  a  student  not 
worth  a  continental,  and  in  debt  for  my  education — 
a  precious  small  debt  that  would  be,  based  on  its  true 
value." 

"  I  don't  suppose  it  will  make  the  slightest  differ 
ence  what  any  of  us  say,"  said  the  major,  musingly. 
"They  probably  don't  expect  to  get  anything  out  of 
us  by  their  'examination.'  If  they  did  they  certain 
ly  wouldn't  be  idiotic  enough  to  leave  us  together 
like  this.  They'll  set  their  own  ransom,  without 
much  reference  to  us." 

A  gloomy  silence  followed. 

"I  don't  believe  they  intend  us  any  very  great 
harm,  after  all,"  said  Madeline,  brightening  up  at 
length.  "  Their  leader  laughs  a  great  deal,  and  I 
never  was  very  much  afraid  of  a  man  who  laughs." 

"Harm  !"  snarled  her  father.  "All  they  want  is 
our  money,  of  course.  They'll  rob  me  and  all  my 
friends  of  every  dollar  we've  got,  cash  or  credit,  and 
then  they'll  let  me  go,  I  suppose,  to  begin  life  over 
again." 

"  When  we  do  get  away,"  he  went  on,  his  passion 


70  A   DEMIGOD. 

rising,  "I'll  sec  whether  there's  any  virtue  in  the 
law  of  nations!  This  miserable  little  government 
has  incurred  a  mighty  responsibility,  let  me  tell  'em.'' 

"  Oh  dear !"  sighed  Aunt  Eliza.  "  Don't  you  be 
lieve  those  soldiers  will  bring  any  one  to  rescue 
us  ?" 

The  major  laughed  with  bitter  contempt.  "  It's 
my  belief  that  the  army,  government,  and  all  are  in 
collusion  with  the  devils — pestilence  rot  their  filthy 
bodies !  Yes,"  he  cried,  his  passion  rising  higher 
and  higher,  "pestilence,  consumption,  palsy,  small 
pox,  cholera — leprosy,  carbuncles,  cancers,  boils,  pim 
ples—" 

This  feeble  anticlimax  brought  out  a  general 
laugh,  in  which,  after  a  while,  the  major  himself  was 
forced  to  join.  Even  Aunt  Eliza  smiled,  so  potent 
an  anodyne  Avas  her  recent  anger  at  her  graceless 
nephew. 

"Besides  being  absurd,  yon  are  terribly  unjust, 
papa,"  said  Madeline.  "  You  forget  those  poor  sol 
diers  who  shed  their  blood  in  our  defence." 

"Heh?" 

"  What  better  pledge  of  good  faith  can  you  ask 
than  their  Mood  ?" 

"Well,  perl  laps  I  was  a  little  hard  on  the  army. 
But  suppose  the  whole  army  should  come  to  rescue 
us,  what  could  it  do  in  this  wilderness  ?  Look  at 
that  rock  !  Besides,  lon^  before  the  advanced  cruard 

'  O  O 

could  scale  the  mountain,  the  infernal  rascals  would 
have  us  miles  away.  I  don't  want  to  dampen  your 
good  spirits,  my  darling  girl,  but  we  mustn't  enter- 


WITHOUT   THE   GATES.  71 

tain  any  nonsensical  hopes,  for  they  will  make  our 
only  the  hardrr  to  hear  when  it  COOK 

"Kate!  What  do  you  mean?  They  don't  want 
anything  but  our  ii«>n<  y,  do  they  '" 

"  Isn't  that  enough,  for  Heaven's  sake  ?" 

"I  can  work,  you  know,  dear  papa.  I  can  teach 
and  paint  and  embroider  and — " 

"Wadi  and  scrub,"  put  in  Robert,  "and  sell  apples 
and  peanuts,  and  do  the  professional  Long-haired 
Lady,  ami— " 

"  Robert  can  help,  too." 

However  Madeline  had  been  annoyed  by  her  cous 
in's  "ill-timed  facetiousncss ''  in  days  gone  by,  it  was 
peculiarly  welcome  to  her  now.  Ever  since  their 
stroll  together  the  evening  before — which  now  seem- 

o  o 

ed  so  long  ago — she  had  felt  a  tender  pity  for  him 
that  made  her  resolve  never  to  scold  him  again,  what 
ever  he  might  do  or  say.  She  was  deeply  grateful 
to  him  for  having  since  made  no  allusion  to  the  mo 
mentous  conversation  that  had  occurred.  To  all  this 
was  added  admiration  for  the  coolness,  courage,  and 
wonderful  buoyancy  of  spirits  he  had  displayed  all 
through  the  trying  ordeal  they  had  been  undergoing. 

"Robert  can  help,  too,"  she  retorted,  giving  him  a 
beaming  smile  from  her  eyes.  "lie  can  dig,  and 
carry  a  hod,  and  exhibit  as  the  Bearded  Lady,  and — 

"To  me"  broke  in  Aunt  Eliza,  with  gloomy  as- 
prrity,  "the  extraordinary  levity  of  you  two  seems 
absolutely  Jt«trtl>  NX,  when  we're  all  in  such  a  horrible 
situation." 

"Horrible?     I  think  it  is  suMf /,/<'"  replied  Hob- 


72  A   DEMIGOD. 

crt,  gayly.  "  You're  always  saying  '  How  romantic !' 
—what  do  you  want  more  romantic  than  this  ?  Ural 
brigands,  aunty,  real  brigands !  None  o'  your  '  su 
pers,'  with  false  eyebrows  and  tin  daggers.  Then 
look  at  that  scenery  —  did  you  ever  see  anything 
equal  to  that  at  the  Boston  Theatre?  It  would  eotft 
the  management  a  cool  fifty  thousand,  at  least,  to 
match  it !  Then  look  at  the  company — what  could 
be  better?  Besides  a  chorus  of  genuine  brigands, 
with  genuine  eyebrows,  and  genuine  calves  to  their 
legs,  here  is  a  picturesque  group  of  real  prisoners  in 
real  distress — " 

"Yes,"  moaned  Aunt  Eliza,  "that's  true  enough. 
Oh,  if  it  were  only  a  play !" 

"  Well,  we  can  make  believe  it  is,  can't  we  ?"  re 
plied  the  undaunted  Griffin.  "We've  made  real 
evils  of  imaginary  ones  often  enough ;  now  let  us 
make  imaginary  evils  of  real  ones.  There's  Uncle 
Warren:  we'll  suppose  his  vigorous  cursing  is  only 
a  specimen  of  matchless  elocution — it  won't  be  the 
first  time  such  a  supposition  has  been  made.  Mad 
eline  is  the  heroine,  whose  beautiful  distress  is  soon 
to  be  rewarded  with  a  thousand  dollars  and  a  cham 
pagne  supper." 

"Thousand  dollars!  That's  an  unfortunate  re 
minder,  Robert,"  groaned  the  major. 

"Never  mind.  For  'out'  read  'in,'  and  it's  all 
right.  Then  there's  Aunt  Eliza  —  she's  the  second 
lady,  in  love  with  the  bucolic  Professor  Tsaras." 

"You — aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself?"  exclaim 
ed  Miss  Wellington,  in  crimson  indignation. 


WITHOUT   THE   GATES.  73 

"  It's  only  the  play,  I  tell  you,  aunty,"  laughed 
Griflin,  gleefully.  u  I'm  reading  the  cast,  that's  all. 
Professor  Tsarns,  an  impecunious  but  high-souled 
Argive,  with  a  romantic  attachment  to  the  lovely 
and  equally  high-souled  Heloise." 

"  "Warren,  will  you  tell  him  to  stop  ?" 

"  Stop !"  said  the  major,  with  a  tremendous  effort 
at  severity. 

"And  I  order  you  to  stop,  too,"  added  Madeline, 
still  more  authoritatively. 

"  To  hear  is  to  obey.  Next  is  Roberto  Grifino, 
an—" 

"Impudent  clown,  with  a  romantic  attachment  to 
himself!''  breaks  in  Aunt  Eliza,  stticntto.  (Applause, 
in  which  Griffin  himself  takes  the  lead.) 

Thus  their  talk  went  on,  now  light  and  anjmated, 
now  melancholy,  prophetic  of  the  worst,  now  filled 
with  bitter  denunciation  of  their  rapacious  enemies. 
The  full  realization  of  their  position  came  upon  them 
only  at  intervals,  in  throes.  Upon  Griffin  it  seemed 
to  come  scarcely  at  all. 

At  length  Peschino  reappeared,  issuing  from  the 
narrow  passage  in  the  cliff.  Like  an  ambitious  and 
hospitable  landlord,  he  had  been  busy  directing  the 
preparations  fora  reception  of  his  "guests"  befitting 
their  supposed  station  in  life. 

lie  was  accompanied  by  the  interpreter,  through 
whom  he  announced  to  Major  Paul  that,  if  agreeable 
to  "his  nobility,"  he  would  like  a  private  interview 
before  conducting  him  and  his  party  to  their  quar 
ters.  He  led  the  way  to  a  sort  of  wild  promenade 


74  A   DEMIGOD. 

at  the  base  of  the  cliff,  bordered  by  wild  thyme  and 
myrtle. 

"  Before  establishing  yon,"  he  began,  "  in  what  I 
hope  will  prove  not  altogether  an  unpleasant  resi 
dence  among  us,  it  is  well  that  you  should  know 
something  of  our  rules." 

The  major  bowed  in  haughty  disdain. 

"  As  you  have  already  seen,  we  treat  our  prisoners 
with  the  utmost  kindness.  We  care  for  their  com 
fort,  health,  even  pleasure.  Don't  be  concerned 
about  the  ladies  of  your  party.  I  swear  to  you,  on 
the  honor  of  a  klepht,  that  they  shall  not  suffer  the 
slightest  indignity,  nor  more  discomfort  than  our  rude 
life  renders  unavoidable." 

"  That  will  be  best  for  you,"  answered  the  major, 
savagely;  "for  I  swear  to  you,  on  the  honor  of  a 
free  American  citizen,  and  soldier  of  the  greatest 
power  on  earth,  that  if  any  harm  comes  to  them 
their  friends  will  not  rest  till  they  are  terribly  re 
venged,  if  it  takes  twenty  years." 

Softened  as  this  speech  was  in  the  translation,  it 
brought  a  fierce,  momentary  scowl  to  Pescliino's 
face.  He  said,  however,  with  a  sinister  smile, 
"Speak  freely,  your  nobility.  We  always  allow 
our  visitors  to  say  what  they  will.  It  does  us  no 
harm,  and  it  adds  to  their  comfort.  We  welcome 
anything  which  will  do  that.  But  we  digress.  I  be 
gan  to  tell  you  about  our  rules.  As  I  said,  we  treat 
our  guests  with  all  due  courtesy,  and  we  expect  sim 
ilar  treatment  in  return."  This  was  said  with  an  air 
of  gentle  rebuke  that  to  a  disinterested  spectator 


WITHOUT  THE   GATES.  75 

would  have  been  irresistibly  comical.  "  You  see  that 
makes  it  pleasanter  for  all  parties.  We  advise  their 
friends  of  the  terms  upon  which  they  may  be  re 
leased.  These  terms  we  make  as  reasonable  as  we  can 
afford.'' 

Major  Paul  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  a  snort 
like  that  of  a  locomotive.  It  made  the  brigand  start 
back  as  if  in  alarm. 

"  Your  nobility  is  very  demonstrative,"  he  said, 
recovering  himself.  "  Permit  me  to  go  on.  If  the 
friends  are  sensible  enough  to  come  to  our  terms,  we 
restore  the  little  trifles  which  have  been  deposited 
with  us,  and  take  an  affectionate  farewell  of  our 
guests,  to  whom,  I  assure  you,  we  often  become 
strongly  attached." 

"  There  is  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  that,"  grunted 
the  major. 

The  brigand  smiled,  showing  a  row  of  even,  white 
teeth  under  his  jetty  mustache.  "  You  appreciate 
humor,  I  see.  We  shall  be  good  friends  in  a  little 
while.  But" — and  the  smile  gave  place  to  an  ap 
palling  look  —  "if,  on  the  other  hand,  the  friends 
prove  to  be  fools,  our  guests  meet  with  misfortune." 

The  captive  glared  at  the  villain  for  a  few  seconds. 
Then,  with  an  effort  at  coolness  which  proved  an  ig 
noble  failure,  he  replied,  ''Look  here.  Yon  seem  to 
have  some  of  the  elements  of  civility  about  you— 
what  do  you  think  of  your  treatment  of  honest  peo 
ple  that  never  harmed  you,  and  on  whom  you  have 
not  the  shadow  of  a  claim  P 

"  It  is  &?/*//«.•**,  your  brilliancy — honorable,  brave 


76  A   DEMIGOD. 

business.  You  call  it  crime.  It  is  not  crime ;  it  is 
bravery."  * 

"  H'm  !  and  what  sort  of  terms  do  you  propose  ?" 

"  Pardon  me.  Your  question  is  premature.  •  We 
cannot  decide  so  important  a  point  without  careful 
consideration.  As  I  have  already  told  you,  you  must 
pass  an  examination  before  our  committee  on  finance. 
We  have  a  regular  form  of  interrogatories  which  you 
must  answer  on  your  oath." 

"  Oh,  you  have  !  But  suppose  I  should  refuse  to 
answer  ?" 

"  I  think  you  will  not  refuse,  your  brilliancy.  We 
have  means  of  persuading  that  rarely  fail." 

"You  include  that  in  the  kind,  courteous  treat 
ment  you  promise,  I  suppose.  That  is  one  of  the 
ways  you  take  to  make  your  'guests,'  as  you  call 
them,  comfortable  and  happy." 

"  Business  is  business,  your  nobility.  We  must 
go  through  with  our  forms,  you  know,  although  we 
do  so  as  gently  and  courteously  as  is  consistent  with 
efficiency." 

Major  Paul  drew  a  long,  deep  breath.  "]S"ow, 
Captain  Peschino,  I  think  you  said  you  would  allow 
me  perfect  freedom  of  speech  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  Well,  then,  give  me  your  attention,  if  you  please 
— and  you,  Tsaras,  give  him  every  word  just  as  I  say 
it :  Of  all  the  insolent,  cold-blooded,  cowardly,  ven- 


*  The  identical  remark  made  by  one  of  Arvanitaki's  brigands 
on  a  similar  occasion,  "  Aiv  ilvai  KctKta,  tlvai  iraXXrjKapia." 


WITHOUT  THE  GATES.  77 

omous,  slimy  reptiles  that  ever  crawled,  you  are  the 
vilest  and  the  slimiest!" 

It  was  of  no  use  for  Tsuras  to  paraphrase.  The 
speakers  face,  tone,  manner,  and  gesture  were  a 
sufficient  and  perfectly  literal  translation  of  his 
words. 

Peschino  paled,  and  for  the  third  time  his  eye  was 
lurid  with  a  fiendish  light.  But  his  voice  was  as 
smooth  and  mellow  as  ever  as  he  replied,  "  We  al 
low  perfect  liberty  of  speech,  but  we  always  charge 
for  it.  You  will  find  it,  as  the  innkeeper  says,  in 
the  account.  But  pardon  me,  your  brilliancy,  you 
surely  do  not  mean  to  intimate  that  we  are  deficient 
in  manly  courage  '*' 

"None  but  cowards  would  have  sneaked  up  to  us 
as  you  did.  If  you  had  given  us  a  fair  chance,  few 
as  we  were,  we  would  have  beaten  you  and  driven 
you  to  your  holes  !'' 

"Do  you  think  so?  It  was  fortunate,  then,  that 
we  did  not.  Bloodshed  would  have  been  very  disa 
greeable.  And  now,  with  your  kind  approval,  we 
will  return  to  your  friends,  that  I  may  have  an  oj>- 
portunity  of  entertaining  the  charming  young  lady 
whose  superior  for  beauty  and  spirit,  I'll  swear,  will 
not  be  found  in  all  Greece." 

The  major's  clinched  hand  flew  up ;  but  before  it 
fell,  the  consciousness  of  his  utter  helplessness  swept 
over  him.  His  hand  and  his  face  sunk  together. 

It  was  no  part  of  Peschino's  policy  to  exasperate 
his  captives.  Jle  was  sincere  in  his  desire  to  render 
them  as  comfortable  as  the  circumstances  would  per- 


78  A  DEMIGOD. 

mit.  lie  wanted  all  their  money,  and  with  it  as 
much  of  their  good-will  as  he  could  get. 

"  My  friend,"  he  said,  reproachfully,  "  you  do  me 
injustice.  I  feel  only  the  most  profound  respect  for 
your  admirable  daughter,  and  nothing  shall  tempt 
me  to  alarm  or  annoy  her  in  the  slightest  degree.  I 
mean  simply  to  quiet  any  fear  she  may  feel  as  to 
the  safety  of  herself  and  her  friends." 

He  approached  Madeline  and  her  aunt  with  the 
grace  of  a  courtier.  "  Mesdames,  is  there  anything 
that  can  be  done  to  give  you  pleasure  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  moaned  Aunt  Eliza ;  "  let  us  go  home !" 

"  You  shall  go  very  soon,  kurdtza.  A  day  more 
or  less  in  this  mountain  air,  among  this  sublime  sce 
nery,  can  be  only  a  pleasure  and  a  benefit  to  you — 
especially  while  you  are  with  friends  whose  chief  de 
light  it  will  be  to  supply  all  your  wants,  protect  you 
from  all  harm — in  short,  devote  themselves  to  your 
comfort  and  pleasure.  You  will  find  the  Kapitdn 
Peschino  no  such  ogre  as  you  imagine.  Has  the  £0- 
pclouda  [dear  young  lady]  observed  the  expansive- 
ness  of  the  view?  That  gray  peak  that  towers  so 
proudly  above  the  rest  is  Mount  Taleton ;  that  oth 
er,  nearly  as  lofty,  but  not  so  pointed,  is  Belvidere. 
You  should  ascend  Belvidere,  Jcurd.  You  would  see 
all  Peloponne'se  spread  before  you  like  a  chart,  with 
the  sea  and  its  islands  stretching  beyond  to  the  sky." 

"  We  have  no  fault  to  find  with  Grecian  scenery," 
responded  Madeline,  determined  not  to  be  charmed 
by  the  gallant  villain  ;  "it  is  the  inhabitants  that  we 
complain  of." 


WITHOUT  THE   GATES.  7'J 

"All,  you  will  think  better  of  usby-and-by" — ten 
derly.  MYhen  the  time  of  parting  comes,  you  will 
not  execrate  us  us  you  do  now;  and  when  you  are 
once  more  in  your  happy  homes,  surrounded  by  the 
elegancies  of  civilization,  you  will  think  of  the  poor 
wanderers  in  the  wilderness  with  feelings  of  compas 
sion  instead  of  hatred." 

"  Provided  you  leave  us  any  homes  to  be  happy 
in,"  retorted  Madeline,  with  icy  indignation. 

"  Wii  shall  be  the  poor  wanderers,"  wailed  Aunt 
Eli/a. 

••  Ah,  mesdames,  why  will  you  allow  your  minds  to 
dwell  on  that  embarrassing  subject?  Fortune  lias 
been  bountiful  to  you,  while  she  has  driven  us  to  the 
mountains,  where  we  should  starve  if  we  did  not 
tight  against  her  cruelty.  What  are  a  few  thousand 
drachmas  to  his  nobility'  He  will  soon  recover 
them,  and  be  glad,  perhaps,  that  he  lias  shared  his 
good  things  with  his  unhappy  brothers." 

""Would  you  be  willing  to  advance  him  a  small 
capital  to  begin  business  on  f  asked  Griffin. 

There  was  no  sarcasm  to  Peschino  in  this  question. 

"  That  shall  be  fully  considered,  young  man,"  he 
said,  reflectively,  toying  with  a  huge  diamond  on  his 
little  linger.  "I  sometimes  loan  money  at  reasona 
ble  usury  on  good  security.  That  is  a  matter,  how 
ever,  that  rests  between  the  J\<ij>!ti'ni  Paul  and  my 
self."  lie  turned  again  to  .Madeline.  "Have  you 
ever  seen  such  scenery  as  this  in  America-.'" 

"  I  can't  think  of  such  things  now.  I  can  think 
of  nothing  but  my  pour  father.  You  will  not  ruin 
6 


80  A  DEMIGOD. 

him  utterly,  will  you?  He  is  not  young,  you  see.  It 
will  break  his  heart — it  will  break  his  heart!  Oh," 
she  cried,  clasping  her  hands  in  pathetic  appeal,  "will 
you  not  let  us  go?  You  have  wealth  enough,  and 
the  recollection  of  your  goodness  will  be  a  life-long 
joy  to  you.  Think  what  a  blessed  thing  it  will  be 
to  you  when  you  stand  in  the  presence  of  your  Mak 
er!  You  cannot  take  our  gold  with  you  there,  Pes- 
chino — you  can  take  only  our  blessings  for  your  for 
bearance,  and  our  prayers  for  His  mercy  to  your 
guilty  soul,  or  our  tears  for  your  cruelty !" 

As  her  tall  form  stood  erect  on  the  rock,  her  hand 
pointing  upward,  her  pure,  white  face  looking  down 
on  the  dark -faced  miscreant,  she  seemed  an  angel 
from  heaven  menacing  a  fiend. 

She  needed  no  interpreter.  Before  her  face  and 
voice,  her  accusing  hand,  Peschino's  hardened  ef 
frontery  failed  ;  his  eyes  fell  to  the  ground,  and,  mut 
tering  unintelligibly,  he  slunk  away. 

It  was  not  alone  the  mesmeric  power  of  Madeline's 
appeal  that  overmastered  him.  Incredible  as  it  may 
appear,  he  had  what  he  called  a  conscience!  .11  is 
blood-stained  hands  were  often  clasped  in  prayer  be 
fore  the  image  of  the  Virgin,  and  a  tithe  of  his  booty 
was  always  scrupulously  set  apart  for  his  brother, 
the  priest  of  the  little  church  at  Mikro-Maina. 

Madeline's  victory,  however,  was  short-lived.  It 
modified  not  a  whit  the  destiny  of  herself  and  her 
friends.  Its  only  fruit  was  the  promise  to  the  priest 
at  Mikro-Maina  of  a  generous  percentage  of  the 
American  plousios's  fortune. 


THE   INQUISITION. 


VII. 

THE    INQUISITION. 

As  the  sun  sank  towards  the  horizon,  the  brigands 
gathered  together  their  effects  and  those  of  their 
prisoners,  and  conveyed  them  through  the  narrow 
pass  in  the  cliff.  The  mules  were  tethered  to  the 
tough  stems  of  the  mastic  and  of  other  shrubs  which 
grew  sparsely  around.  The  prisoners  were  then 
filed  through  the  pass.  They  found  it  at  least  a 
hundred  and  fifty  yards  in  length,  and  from  two  to 
fifteen  or  twenty  in  width.  The  sides  formed  nearly 
perpendicular  walls  of  solid  rock,  varying  from  up 
ward  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  at  the  entrance 
to  less  than  one-tenth  of  that  height  at  the  other  ex 
tremity.  A  rivulet  coursed  along  its  entire  length, 
breaking  into  numerous  little  cascades  and  pools,  and 
rendering  the  passage  slow  and  difficult. 

On  emerging  they  saw  a  cluster  of  little  huts,  with 
chimneys,  glass  windows,  and  other  conveniences  of 
civilization,  by  no  means  an  unwelcome  sight.  They 
had  supposed  that  they  were  already  at  the  summit 
of  the  mountain ;  but  now  they  saw  still  another  as 
cent  stretching  up  before  them,  and  terminating  in  a 
long,  impassable  ridge.  In  the  deep  valley  between 
them  and  this  ascent  they  naw  a  flock  of  sheep  quiet 
ly  grazing. 


83  A  DEMIGOD. 

Major  Paul  gazed  around  in  hopeless  wonder. 
"This  is  a  mountain  fastness,  indeed  !"  he  exclaimed. 
"No  hope  of  a  rescue  here.  We  may  as  well  resign 
ourselves  to  our  fate.  Nature  seems  to  have  de 
signed  it  expressly  for  such  incarnate  fiends  as  you 
are !" 

"  What  does  he  say,  Tsdras  ?"  asked  Peschino,  ex- 
ultingly. 

"  lie  says,  '  This  is,  indeed,  a  mountain  fastness. 
There  is  no  hope  of  rescue.  We  must  resign  our 
selves  to  our  fate.  Nature  has  designed  it  expressly 
for  your  safety  against  your  enemies.  You  have 
chosen  very  judiciously.' " 

"No  starving  here,  you  see,"  said  the  delighted 
brigand,  pointing  to  the  herd  and  the  rivulet.  "  Good 
shelter,  plenty  of  arms  and  ammunition,  books,  pens, 
and  paper,  cards,  chess —  You  play  chess,  your  no 
bility  ?" 

In  spite  of  himself,  the  major's  face  broadened, 
lie  was  passionately  fond  of  the  game. 

"I  see  that  you  do;  so  do  I.  That  will  help  to 
kill  a  few  clays." 

"Till  the  other  killing  begins,"  muttered  Griffin 
to  himself. 

"Now,"  said  Peschino,  "come  and  see  how  you 
like  your  quarters." 

The  cleanest  and  most  comfortable  cabin  was  al 
lotted  to  Miss  Wellington  and  Madeline;  the  next 
best  to  Major  Paul,  Tstiras,  and  Griffin.  They  were 
allowed  the  use  of  their  own  beds,  on  which  they 
slept  soundly,  notwithstanding  the  fatigues  and  ex- 


THE   INQUISITION.  83 

citcments  of  the  day,  their  present  anxiety,  and,  al 
most  the  worst  of  all,  the  boisterous  hilarity  of  the 
brigands,  which  lasted  half  the  night. 

At  dawn  they  were  aroused  by  loud  explosions 
close  at  hand. 

"  The  soldiers !  the  soldiers !"  exclaimed  Aunt 
Eliza,  springing  out  of  bed,  running  to  the  door  in 
her  robe  de  nuit,  and  throwing  it  wide  open.  A 
couple  of  brigands  happening  to  pass  at  that  mo 
ment,  modestly  turned  their  faces  away,  one  of  them 
pointing  to  an  invisible  object  in  the  horizon.  In 
spite  of  this  delicate  and  highly  respectful  conduct, 
however,  the  scandalized  lady,  forgetting  that  a 
mountain  hut  was  not  u  built  upon  honor,"  like  her 
mansion  on  Commonwealth  Avenue,  slammed  the 
door  together  with  such  violent  indignation  that  it 
fell  from  its  hinges.  The  innocent  but  now  wicked 
ly-laughing  objects  of  her  wrath  were  constrained  to 
come  and  make  the  necessary  repairs,  the  two  fail- 
tenants  meanwhile  hiding  behind  the  high -posted 
bedstead  which  had  been  provided  as  an  especial 
luxury  for  them.  Every  little  while,  for  hours  after 
wards,  Madeline  shook  with  laughter  at  the  recollec 
tion  of  the  embarrassing  but  comical  incident. 

The  explosions  which  had  caused  the  excitement 
proved  to  be  only  the  customary  discharge  of  fire 
arms  after  an  expedition,  preparatory  to  cleansing 
and  reloading  them. 

After  a  breakfast  of  toast,  broiled  lamb,  and  ex 
cellent  coffee,  Peschino  invited  his  "guests"  to  as 
cend  the  cliff  through  which  they  had  passed  and 


84  A   DEMIGOD. 

witness  the  glories  of  sunrise  in  the  Taygetus.  In 
admiring  the  magnificent  spectacle  they  almost  for 
got  their  troubles. 

"  Is  there  anything  to  report  ?"  Peschino  asked  of 
the  stalwart  sentinel  who  stood  on  the  apex  of  the 
cliff. 

"  Nothing,  Jcapitdn"  replied  the  man,  hesitatingly ; 
"that  is — nothing  of  importance." 

"What  does  that  mean,  you  dog?" 

"  I  thought  I  saw  something  at  early  dawn,  down 
there,"  pointing  to  a  narrow  opening  among  the. 
stunted  trees  below. 

"  What  was  it  ?" 

"  I  thought " — deprecatingly — "  perhaps  it  might 
be  the—" 

"  Out  with  it,  stupid  !" 

"  The — the  Antliropoda'nnon  "  (man-devil). 

Peschino's  swarthy  face  turned  livid.  "  Listen  !" 
he  said  to  the  cowering  sentinel.  "  If  I  ever  hear 
that  fool's-word  again,  I  will  order  the  tongue  that 
dares  to  utter  it  torn  out  by  the  roots !  Do  you  hear 
me?" 

The  fellow  glanced  shamefacedly  at  the  strangers, 
and  muttered  a  sullen  affirmative. 

"  These  superstitious  idiots,"  said  Peschino,  turn 
ing  to  Tsaras,  "  have  a  child's  terror  of  a  certain  be 
ing  that  is  said  to  haunt  these  regions.  They  think 
lie  is  something  more  than  mortal,  bears  a  charmed 
life,  kills  with  a  glance  from  his  eye,  and  all  that  pre 
posterous,  cursed  nonsense.  But  I'll  cure  them  of  it, 
if  I  have  to  hang  every  man  of  them  by  his  thumbs !" 


THE   INQUISITION.  80 

"Have  you  ever  seen  this  mysterious  being  f7 
Tsuras  asked,  eagerly. 

>%  He  is  not  a  mysterious  being,"  answered  Pes- 
cliino,  with  ineffable  disgust.  "  He  is  nothing  but  a 
man  like  you  or  me.  It  was  only  three  years  ago 
that  his  father — just  such  another  Anthropodaunon 
—was  caught  and  disposed  of  as  he  deserved.  But 
that's  nothing  to  these  numskulls !  Seen  him  ?  Yes ; 
and  once  I  nearly  captured  him.  O  T/tee  mou  !  if 
I  had  been  one  minute  quicker!  But  never  mind, 
I'll  track  him  to  his  den  yet." 

"  Has  he  any  other  name  than  Antkropodaimoji  ?" 

"Of  course  he  has — Hector  Vyr." 

"  I  knew  it !  I  knew  it !"  cried  Tsiiras,  in  uncon 
trollable  delight.  "  I  have  heard  of  him  before." 

"  Well,  and  what  then  ?  Do  you  think  he  can  help 
you  to  cheat  me  out  of  the  game  you  have  brought 
me? — How  intently  they  are  listening!  Can  they 
understand  a  word  of  what  we  are  saying?" 

"  No ;  but  they  will  expect  me  to  translate  it  all 
to  them  when  we  are  alone/' 

"Which  you  will,  of  course,  do,"  significantly. 

"  I  shall  use  dixci-ftioji.  But  remember,  Peschino, 
no  bodily  harm  is  to  come  to  them,  whatever  else 
happens." 

"I  haven't  promised  that  yet.  Why  didn't  you 
make  your  bargain  before  you  delivered  me  the 
goods  ?" 

Let  not  Tsiiras  hoodwink  the  innocent  reader  as 
he  has  already  partially  succeeded  in  doing  with  the 
brigand  chief.  His  crafty  brain  has  devised  a  scheme 


86  A   DEMIGOD. 

which  promises  absolute  safety  to  himself — perhaps 
even  more — and  at  least  life  to  the  unfortunate  for 
eigners  whom  his  recklessness,  not  his  treachery,  has 
betrayed. 

"Let  us  talk  of  this  at  another  time,"  he  said, 
uneasily.  "  My  brain  is  not  fertile  enough  to  invent 
a  translation  for  so  much  emphasis.  What  of  this 
Hector  Yyr?" 

"  Oh,  he's  a  good  fighter,  that's  all.  lie's  a  sly  dev 
il,  though,  and  shoots  little  steel  arrows  from  a  noise 
less,  smokeless  rifle,  instead  of  bullets;  so  it  is  hard 
to  see  where  lie  hides  himself.  My  fellows  are  urg 
ing  me  to  leave  these  snug  quarters ;  but  I  am  go 
ing  to  stay  here,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  to  show 
them  how  foolish  is  their  terror.  Perhaps  I  shall 
catch  him  yet,  who  knows  ?" 

"  Well,  well !"  interposed  Major  Paul,  losing  his 
patience  at  last,  "if  you  have  finished  your  private 
confab  with  this  bloody  cutthroat,  Tsuras,  perhaps  you 
will  condescend  to  give  us  a  little  of  your  attention." 

"Certainlec,  Monsieur  Paul.  He  was  explaiiin  to 
me  the  little  difficultee  which  he  have  with  the  sen 
tinel.  I  shall  tell  him  to  you  when  it  is  your  wishes. 
It  is  all  about  the  wond'ful  Hector  Yyr,  Monsieur 
Paul.  Aah,  you  shall  faind  those  stoaries  which  I 
have  tell  to  you  is  the  truth." 

"  Oh,  no  doubt,  no  doubt,"  answered  the  major, 
indifferently.  In  Madeline's  heart,  however,  there 
sprang  up  a  sudden  wild  hope  which  even  her  sensi 
ble,  practical  reasoning  the  next  moment  could  not 
entirely  dispel. 


THE  INQUISITION.  87 

Peschino  now  handed  his  field-glass  to  Major  Paul, 
directing  his  attention  to  a  wide-open  space  appar 
ently  only  a  few  rods  distant.  "Do  you  recognize 
that  place  f  he  asked. 

"  The  flume  ?" 

"Right.  It  is  a  kilometre  off  as  the  crow  flies. 
Any  one  coming  to  us  must  pass  that  point,  and  can 
not  escape  the  vigilant  eye  of  our  sentry.  We  should 
have  ample  warning,  therefore,  to  prepare  for  a  de 
fence,  or,  if  we  thought  best,  to  withdraw  to  one  of 
our  other  retreats.  We  have  others,  your  brilliancy, 
nearly  as  good  as  this." 

"  What  are  those  stones  for  ?"  asked  Miss  Welling 
ton,  pointing  to  two  rows  of  bowlders  arranged  with 
such  regularity  as  to  indicate  design. 

"  Let  us  go  and  look  at  them,"  anwered  Peschino. 

The  bowlders  were  poised  upon  the  very  edges 
of  the  fissure  through  which  the  captives  had  passed 
the  day  before.  Peschino  asked  Miss  Wellington  to 
try  her  strength  upon  one  of  them.  She  did  so,  and 
was  astonished  at  the  ease  with  which  she  sent  it 
crashing  down  the  precipice. 

"  Imagine  a  file  of  soldiers  trying  to  make  their 
way  down  there !"  said  Peschino,  with  a  smile  that 
eent  shudders  of  horror  through  his  listeners. 

In  the  course  of  the  forenoon  Major  Paul  and 
Tstiras  were  summoned  to  the  brigand  chieftain's 
"office"  for  a  "  business  interview."  Hitherto  the 
tension  of  the  major's  wrath  had  been  so  relieved  by 
frequent  liftings  of  the  escape- valve  that  he  had  al- 


$8  A    DEMIGOD. 

most  got  to  looking  upon  liimsclf  as  the  "gncst"  liis 
captor  called  him.  This  summons,  however,  was  like 
pouring  a  can  of  turpentine  upon  a  smouldering  fire. 
lie  obeyed  with  set  teeth,  Hashing  eye,  and  a  tremen 
dous  boiling  within. 

At  a  rude  table  half  covered  with  papers  sat  the 
irresponsible  mountain  despot,  supported  by  two  of. 
his  swarthy  satellites.  lie  motioned  his  prisoners  to 
seats,  and  immediately  began  a  grandiloquent  pane 
gyric  on  his  "profession."  This  finished,  he  pro 
ceeded,  with  all  the  stateliness  of  a  judicial  magnate, 
to  the  inquisition. 

The  major,  when  asked  if  he  were  willing  to  be 
sworn,  answered  with  an  explosive 

"NO!!" 

"  Yery  well,  then,"  smiled  the  inquisitor,  "  we 
will  dismiss  you  temporarily  and  summon  the  young 
kurd." 

This  brought  the  father  to  terms. 

When  he  had  sullenly  given  his  full  name,  resi 
dence,  and  occupation,  he  was  required  to  state  tho 
total  value  of  his  estate,  real  and  personal. 

"  What  reason  have  you  for  supposing  that  I  shall 
state  it  correctly  ?" 

"  Because  you  are  a  gentleman,  and  are  on  your 
oath,"  placidly  replied  the  brigand-judge. 

"  Hear,  then,  the  answer  of  a  gentleman  on  his 
oath.  I  solemnly  swear  to  you,  Peschino,  that  I  do 
not  look  upon  you  as  entitled  to  the  truth,  even  un 
der  oath  !  I  believe  that  I  should  be  justified,  in  the 
eyes  of  God  and  man,  in  using  any  means  within  my 


THE   INQUISITION.  89 

power — even  the  commission  of  perjury — to  thwart 
your  diabolical  villain',  and  I  should  violate  neither 
my  conscience  nor  my  sense  of  honor  in  doing  so! 
With  this  understanding,  do  you  still  insist  on  my 
giving  you  an  inventory  of  my  property  f ' 

This  was  what  Major  Paul  actually  said;  as  ren 
dered  by  Tsaras  it  became — • 

"  Hear  the  answer  of  a  gentleman  on  his  oath.  *  I 
belong  to  a  peculiar  religious  sect,  Peschino,  which, 
among  other  progressive  tenets,  does  not  recognize 
the  sanctity  of  an  oath.  We  look  upon  all  swearing 
as  blasphemy,  and,  even  if  it  were  not  so,  I  regret  to 
say  that  my  financial  affairs  are  in  such  an  unsettled 
state  that  I  am  utterly  unable  to  give  you  the  infor 
mation  you  require.  Under  these  circumstances,  will 
you  l)e  so  unjust  as  to  insist  upon  an  impossibility  C  v 

"  That  is  not  all  he  said,"  said  Peschino,  glaring 
threateningly  at  poor  Tsaras. 

"It  is  xuhxtiintinlli/,  upon  my  honor,"  protested 
the  interpreter,  with  convincing  earnestness.  "  I  have 
omitted  only  certain  angry  exclamations  that  do  not 
essentially  modify  the  ideas." 

k>  Why,  then,'"  said  Peschino,  continuing  the  exam 
ination,  "is  your  nobility  here,  wasting  your  time? 
AVhy  are  you  not  at  home  arranging  your  aifairs  C 

"  He  ask,"  interpreted  Tsaras,  "' '  Why  you  put 
youself  into  sooch  a  perilous  situaation  ?  Why  have 
you  not  thwart  his  "  diabolical  villany  "  by  staying  at 
home?'" 

'•  I  Because  I  thought  a  citizen  of  a  friendly  power 
could  trust  himself  in  a  country  that  professed  to  be 


90  A  DEMIGOD. 

civilized.  I  thought  Greece  was  a  civilized  country, 
sir.  I  didn't  know  it  was  a  province  of  hell." 

Translation :  " '  I  left  my  affairs  in  good  hands,  and 
came  away  to  recuperate  my  exhausted  energies.  I 
trusted  that  Greece  would  welcome  a  citizen  of  a 
friendly  power  as  a  guest,  sir — I  expected  that  you 
would  treat  him  as  such.'  " 

"  We  are  wasting  time,"  said  Peschino,  losing  pa 
tience  at  last.  "  Once  for  all,  will  you  make  the  es 
timate,  or  shall  1 3" 

"I  decline  to  pronounce  my  own  sentence.  The 
power  is  in  your  hands.  I  suppose  you  will  do  as 
you  please." 

The  brigand  ground  his  teeth  with  rage  for  an  in 
stant  ;  but  immediately  controlling  himself,  he  said, 
calmly,  "You  are  dismissed  for  the  present.  Zout- 
zo,  conduct  him  to  his  quarters,  and  bring  the  young 
man." 

Griffin  was  detained  but  a  few  minutes.  It  would 
be  futile  to  represent  him  as  utterly  unconcerned ; 
he  was  mortal,  and  capable  of  suffering  from  finan 
cial  ruin  or  a  worse  fate,  when  it  came,  as  sensibly  as 
others.  But  probably  no  one  was  ever  less  affected 
by  the  mere  anticipation  of  evil  than  he.  For  him, 
amply  sufficient  unto  the  day  was  the  evil  thereof. 
lie  entered  the  dread  presence  with  an  air  of  gay  in 
difference  extremely  annoying  to  the  brigand  chief, 
who  at  the  same  time  felt  it  beneath  his  dignity  to 
betray  his  irritation. 

"  What  do  you  know  of  your  friend's  circum 
stances  ?"  was  asked,  after  the  usual  preliminaries. 


THE  INQUISITION.  91 

"  Major  Paul  ha*  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being 
one  of  the  wealthiest  merehants  of  Boston,"  was  the 
unexpected  answer. 

"  Ah,  that  is  good."     Eagerly—"  Go  on." 

"  But,  alas  !  tlie  war  ruined  him.     The  crash  was 

tremendous.     His  great  fortune  floated  away  from 

him  like  the  fragments  of  a  shipwreck.    He  reserved 

nothing,  and  even  then  could  only  pay  twelve  per 


"A  likely  story,  indeed!  Why  is  he  here,  travel 
ling  with  his  family,  like  a  prince  of  the  blood  ?" 

t%  You  compel  me,  then,  to  reveal  his  disgrace? 
The  unfortunate  but  really  innocent  man  is  simply 
hiding  from  his  infuriated  creditors." 

"  0  Didltolos  !  You  think  me  an  imbecile  !  My 
time  is  too  precious  to  waste  on  such  a  rattle-pate. 
If  I  did  my  duty  I  should  wipe  that  shallow  simper 
off  your  face  with  fifty  lashes.  Take  him  away, 
Zoutzo.  I  will  see  the  elder  of  the  women." 

But  he  could  make  nothing  of  Miss  "Wellington. 
Ordinarily  excitable,  she  had  nerved  herself  up  to 
preternatural  coolness  for  the  ordeal  before  her.  She 
had  thought  better  of  her  first  resolution  to  be  abso 
lutely  dumb,  and  had  outlined  a  course  of  testimony 
which  subjected  her  tender  conscience  to  little  or  no 
strain.  She  was  only  a  woman,  she  said,  and  could 
not  be  expected  to  know  anything  of  business.  She 
knew  only  that  her  brother-in-law  had  suffered  losses 
during  the  war.  On  her  oath  she  knew  nothing  defi 
nite  of  his  financial  condition. 

"But  you  know  his  manner  of  living?" 


93  A   DEMIGOD. 

"That  is  no  criterion  in  America.  Men  often  live 
recklessly  to  conceal  their  real  poverty." 

"  They  must  have  resources  to  do  even  that." 

"  Oh,  people  trust  as  recklessly  as  they  spend. 
He  may  be  living  entirely  on  his  credit,  for  all  that  I 
know." 

"  For  all  that  you  know  ?  Do  you  believe  he  is 
doing  that  ?" 

"  My  belief  can  be  of  no  value  to  you." 

"Nevertheless,  I  desire  to  know  your  belief." 

"  I  shall  not  answer  you." 

"  I  wish  no  better  answer  than  that,  kurdtza. 
The  young  man  says  your  brother's  real  poverty  is 
no  secret." 

"  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know.  I  have  never  asked, 
and  nobody  has  ever  told  me." 

"What  is  to  prevent  my  levying  on  his  credit?" 

"  You  would  gain  very  little  by  doing  so.  Keck- 
less  as  our  people  are,  they  know  better  than  to  trust 
a  man  in  his  unhappy  situation." 

"Surely  they  will  risk  something  to  release  him 
from  it  2" 

"I  am  afraid  not.  They  will  sympathize  deeply, 
but  when  it  comes  to  giving  money  they  are  like  the 
rest  of  the  world." 

"  You  are  the  lady  that  knows  nothing  of  business. 
How  much  would  your  brother  and  his  friends  be 
willing  to  pay  to  release  you  all  from  captivity — per 
haps  worse  2" 

"  I  cannot,  and  I  will  not  answer." 

"Four  hundred  thousand  drachmas?" 


THE   INQUISITION.  93 

Miss  Wellingtdfi'fl  lips  shut  tightly  together. 

^  2^o/i  r  In/ nil  ml  tli<»tx<t)i<l  /" 

The  lips  closed  still  more  tightly. 

"  IIo\v  much  do  you  think  you  can  endure  before 
giving  me  an  answer  f 

"All  that  you  can  inflict." 

"  I  may  put  you  to  the  test.  This  is  sufficient  for 
the  present,  madame." 

When  Madeline's  turn  came  she  drew  a  deep 
breath  to  quiet  her  furiously  leaping  heart,  and  came 
before  the  brigand  chief  with  outward  composure. 
The  starry  light  in  her  brown  eyes,  however,  and  the 
vivid  Hush  on  her  cheek  betrayed  her  inward  agita 
tion,  while  they  greatly  enhanced  her  marvellous 
beauty. 

IVschino  gazed  upon  her  with  undisguised  admi 
ration.  He  motioned  his  attendants  to  withdraw. 

They  scowled  and  muttered. 

"I  am  the  J\n]>!l<ii>.  IVschino,"  fiercely  growled 
their  chief.  "You  know  both  my  honor  and  my 
discipline.  Don't  you  see,  your  savage'  faces  fright 
en  the  lady  {  She  will  say  nothing  while  you  are 
here.  Leave  me  and  this  gentleman  to  deal  with 
her.  Go !" 

AVhen  they  had  gone,  a  look  of  intelligence  was 
exchanged  between  the  brigand  chief  and  Tsaras 
which  did  not  escape  Madeline. 

"Is  it  possible?"  she  murmured,  as  she  gazed  at 
the  smooth-faced  interpreter.  Then  a  deathly  faint- 
ness  came  over  her. 


94  A  DEMIGOD. 

"Have  no  fears,  beautiful  lady,"  Peschino  said,  in 
his  softest  tones;  "I  would  cut  my  heart  out  rather 
than  harm  you.  It  is  of  your  father  that  I  wish  to 
speak,  and  I  do  not  wish  those  rough,  greedy  fellows 
to  hear  the  generous  terms  I  am  about  to  propose. 
They  have  no  sentiments  of  humanity  in  their  breasts 
• — they  would  never  consent." 

"  Why  do  you  not  propose  your  terms  to  my  fa 
ther  himself?"  Madeline  faltered. 

"  You  must  hear  them  first,  kopclouda.  You  are 
fond  of  adventure,  of  romance,  are  you  not  ?  Yours 
is  a  poetic  soul ;  it  is  thrilled  with  the  spectacle  of 
heroic  life  among  these  glorious  mountains.  It  is  a 
wild  life,  but  not  a  hard  one,  believe  me.  It  is  full 
of  grand  excitements,  without  discomforts  that  the 
noble  soul  feels.  We  know  nothing  of  poverty.  Pes 
chino  is  a  king,  kopelouda — a  king  that  Georgias  him 
self  is  afraid  of.  His  willing  subjects  populate  a  hun 
dred  villages,  and  pour  their  treasures  into  his  lap." 

"  Oh,  then,"  cried  Madeline,  her  voice  coming  forth 
in  a  flood  of  passionate  entreaty,  "  if  you  are  so  rich 
and  powerful  let  us  go !  Do  not  rob  my  poor  father 
to  add  to  your  riches,  which  are  already  so  great." 

Peschino  interrupted  her  with  a  gracious  wave  of 
his  hand.  "  ]Sro,  lovely  girl ;  your  father  shall  not 
lose  a  drachma.  Peschino  lias  no  need  of  his  treas 
ures.  He  is  a  king,  with  a  kingly  heart  which  is 
not  satisfied  with  riches  and  grandeur  alone.  It 
craves  something  more — love.  Oh,  beautiful  kurd, 
be  my  queen." 

Poor  Madeline  had  known  too  well  how  his  speech 


THE   INQUISITION.  95 

would  end  ;  but  when  the  last  words  fell  on  her  ears 
she  seemed  turned  to  marble.  Her  lips  were  open, 
but  no  sound  came  from  them.  Suddenly  her  arms 
ilew  up  convulsively,  and  her  voice  returned  to  her 
with  a  horrified,  u  Xever !  O,  merciful  Father  in 
heaven  !" 

The  brigand's  face  flushed,  then  turned  almost  as 
white  as  her  own.  lie  uttered  some  words  in  a  low, 
harsh  voice,  which  were  not  repeated  to  Madeline. 
Then  he  said,  with  comparative  calmness,  ''I  will 
give  you  time  to  decide.  Only  one  word  more  now. 
If  you  love  your  father,  you  will  breathe  no  word 
of  this  matter.  Say  that  you  have  been  questioned 
as  the  rest  were — about  your  father's  circumstances 
— no  more.  In  the  mean  time  fear  nothing  from 
this  interview  ;  you,  as  well  as  the  rest,  shall  be  treat 
ed  as  before." 

An  hour  or  two  afterwards  Major  Paul  was  re 
called.  Without  preface  or  ceremony  he  was  in 
formed  that  the  ransom  for  himself  and  family  had 
been  iixed  at  four  hundred  thousand  drachmas  —  a 
sum  equal  to  about  seventy  thousand  dollars.  GrilHn 
would  be  released  on  parole,  and  could  be  employed 
as  his  agent.  One  month  would  be  allowed  for  the 
ransom  to  be  collected  and  paid  in.  If  it  came  safe 
ly,  and  no  trouble  followed,  either  from  his  own  gov 
ernment  or  that  of  Greece,  Major  Paul  and  his  party 
would  be  immediately  set  at  liberty,  and  escorted  to 
a  place  from  which  they  could  return  to  Athens  in 
pert'ect  security. 

The  penahv  of  failure  was  death. 
7 


90  A   DEMIGOD. 


VIII. 

THE  "ANTIIROPODAIMON.' 


U 


Now  seventy  thousand  dollars  may  seem  insignifi 
cant  to  yon,  the  "  unearned  increment "  of  whose 
property  on  the  Back  Bay  lias  been  more  than  that 
amount  within  a  year ;  but  to  Major  Paul  it  was  ter 
ribly  large.  Entre  nous,  Robert  Griffin's  testimony 
was  not  so  absurd  as  it  sounded  to  himself  as  well  as 
to  Peschino.  It  was  true  that  while  Major  Paul  had 
been  risking  life  and  limb  on  the  field,  his  wealth 
had  been  rapidly  diminishing  at  home.  Not  that  his 
absence  at  the  seat  of  war  had  aught  to  do  with  its 
diminution  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  probably  one  of 
the  best  things  that  could  have  happened  both  for 
his  bleeding  country  and  for  his  bleeding  pocket.  It 
was  also  true  that  he  \vas  now  travelling  with  his 
family,  not,  indeed,  to  "  escape  from  his  infuriated 
creditors,"  but  in  obedience  to  the  demands  of  his 
much-enduring  partners,  who  had  pledged  themselves 
to  redeem  his  fortunes  if  he  would  only  consent  to 
the  status  of  silent  partner  for  one  year.  As  will  be 
readily  understood,  the  only  possible  way  for  him  to 
fulfil  such  a  condition  was  to  be  where  neither  his 
big  voice  could  be  heard  nor  his  letters  and  telegrams 
especially  troublesome. 


THE    "ANTimOrODAiMON."  97 

( JritHn,  too,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  had 
been  willing  to  be  supposed  far  more  forehanded 
than  he  actually  was,  and  the  fearful,  naked  truth 
was  that,  as  matters  stood,  it  was  next  to  impossible 
for  all  the  prisoners  combined  to  raise  the  amount 
required  for  their  ransom,  save  through  disinterested 
benevolence — a  forlorn  resort,  indeed ! 

But  remonstrances,  prayers,  tears,  threats  to  Pes- 
chino  were  like  rain,  snow,  and  hail  to  Gibraltar. 
(Iriffin  set  forth  upon  his  well-nigh  hopeless  errand, 
bearing  letters  from  his  three  companions  to  Amer 
ica,  and  another  from  Peschino  to  the  Greek  Gov 
ernment  insolently  demanding  a  decree  of  pardon 
and  amnesty  for  life,  with  the  most  atrocious  alter 
nate 

After  (JriiliiTs  departure  the  brigands  seemed  to 
try  in  every  possible  way  to  make  the  remaining  cap 
tives  forget  their  captivity.  They  allowed  them  to 
wander  almost  at  will  on  both  sides  of  the  pass,  al 
ways,  however,  within  sight  of  a  strong  guard ;  the 
slightest  show  of  rudeness  to  them  was  promptly  and 
.-eveivly  punished  ;  the  best  of  everything  obtainable 
was  freely  placed  at  their  disposal ;  and  had  it  not 
been  for  the  dark,  uncertain  future,  their  life  would 
have  been  far  from  unpleasant.  The  first  day  or 
two  seemed  an  age.  But  terror,  apprehension,  indig 
nation  cannot  last  forever  at  extreme  tension.  What 
ever  might  betide  the  captives,  their  consciences  were 
unscathed,  and  gradually  health  of  mind  and  body, 
sustained  by  the  purest  and  most  exhilarating  of 
mountain  air,  and  by  a  never-ceasing  chain  of  novel 


98  A   DEMIGOD. 

experiences,  brought  back  something  like  hope  and 
cheerfulness. 

As  no  attempt  was  made  to  escape,  the  vigilance 
of  the  brigands  relaxed,  and  they  made  more  persist 
ent  overtures  towards  comradeship.  So  far  from 
apprehending  efforts  on  the  part  of  the  Hellenic 
Government  or  of  others  to  rescue  the  prisoners,  they 
manifested  only  contempt  for  the  combined  force  of 
all  civilization  against  them.  Even  the  superstitious 
fear  of  the  terrible  Hector  Yyr  which  prevailed 
among  the  less  intelligent  of  them,  gradually  died 
out  as  no  new  rumors  of  his  exploits  came  to  their 
ears.  "Whatever  precautions  they  might  take  for 
their  own  safety  when  empty-handed,  with  such  hos 
tages  as  they  held  they  felt  perfectly  secure.  Every 
two  or  three  days  one  or  more  of  their  number  went 
to  the  neighboring  villages,  and  on  one  occasion  even 
to  Athens,  for  necessaries  and  luxuries  for  themselves 
and  their  captives. 

Incredible  as  it  may  appear,  as  time  went  on  a 
curious  kind  of  familiarity  grew  up  between  Major 
Paul  and  Peschino.  True  to  his  old  habit,  the  major 
had  expended  the  vitality  of  his  indignation  in  a 
succession  of  terrific  tirades,  which  at  first  had  mad 
dened  the  brigand  chief,  but  afterwards  only  amused 
him.  Less  and  less  was  said  of  the  anomalous  "  busi 
ness  "  relation  between  them ;  they  played  chess  for 
hours  together ;  they  gave  each  other  language  les 
sons  until  they  could  converse,  after  a  fashion,  in  both 
English  and  Greek ;  they  went  hunting  together, 
and  once,  when  a  violent  storm  imprisoned  them 


THE    "ANTHBOPODAIMON.  99 

over-night  in  a  cave,  they  kept  each  other  warm  by 
Iving  close  together  un  their  heel  of  thorn-hush,  like 
a  pair  of  brother 

Much  to  her  relief,  Madeline  was  not  annoyed  by 
a  direct  renewal  of  Peschino's  love  advances.  No 
rejected  suitor  in  civilized  life  could  have  maintained 
a  more  delicate  or  self-respecting  reserve.  lie  seem 
ed  bent  on  disarming  her  repugnance  and  winning 
her  gratitude  by  intruding  himself  upon  her  as  little 
as  possible,  at  the  same  time  that  he  displayed  a 
never-ceasing  solicitude  for  her  comfort  and  pleasure. 
I>ut  she,  of  all  the  party,  remained  the  most  implaca 
ble.  Pescliino's  artful  policy  was  the  more  horrible 
to  her  from  its  very  subtlety.  She  witnessed  the  in 
creasing  communicativeness,  if  not  friendliness,  be 
tween  her  companions  and  the  robbers,  as  she  per 
sistently  styled  them,  with  growing  abhorrence. 
Whatever  may  have  been  her  feelings  towards  her 
cousin,  she  now  looked  for  his  return  as  that  of  a 
delivering  angel. 

At  last  he  came,  bringing  with  him  an  agent  of  the 
Greek  Government.  A  conference  of  several  hours 
was  held  at  headquarters. 

The  letters  which  (Jriilin  brought  characterized 
the  ransom  demanded  as  utterly  beyond  the  bounds 
of  reason  or  possibility.  After  a  stormy  discussion 
IVschino  consented  to  reduce  it  to  three  hundred 
thousand  drachmas  (about  lifty  thousand  dollars) — a 
sum  which,  Major  Paul  declared,  was  equally  out  of 

*  An  actual  occurrence. 


100  A   DEMIGOD. 

the  question ;  but  not  a  drachma  less  would  Peschino 
take — it  must  be  that  or  death. 

One  of  the  letters,  from  a  zealous  young  debtor  of 
the  major's,  occasioned  a  gloomy  sort  of  amusement, 
if  such  a  thing  were  possible,  among  the  prisoners. 
It  threatened  the  vengeance  of  the  whole  American 
nation.  A  squadron  of  iron-clads  would  invest  the 
peninsula,  an  army  corps  would  scour  the  mountains 
and  pursue  the  villains  through  Turkey  to  the  deserts 
of  Arabia,  but  they  would  avenge  every  drop  of  blood 
and  reclaim  every  dollar  of  ransom  with  terrible  in 
terest — a  great  satisfaction  to  ears  forever  deaf  to  the 
thunder  of  iron-clads,  and  to  eyes  forever  blind  to 
the  glitter  of  gold! 

The  negotiations  with  his  Majesty's  Government 
were,  if  possible,  still  more  unsatisfactory.  While, 
for  the  sake  of  the  unfortunate  captives,  citizens  of 
a  powerful  nation  with  whom  the  Hellenic  Govern 
ment  was  anxious  to  remain  at  peace,  a  most  humili 
ating  concession  would  be  made,  to  wit :  that  neither 
the  Kapitdn  Peschino  nor  his  command  would  be  mo 
lested  on  account  of  their  present  offence,  provided 
the  prisoners  were  set  at  liberty  on  reasonable  terms 
— it  was  out  of  the  power  of  the  Government  to  grant 
pardon  and  an  amnesty  for  life.  By  so  doing  they 
would  bring  down  upon  themselves  the  execration 
and  hostility  of  the  civilized  world.  It  was  believed 
that  on  reflection  the  Kapitdn  Peschino  would  rec 
ognize  the  unreasonableness  of  his  demand,  and  sub 
stitute  one  that  could  be  entertained. 

But  while  the  insignificant  little  tyrant  was  will- 


THE   "ANTHROPODAIMON."  101 

ing  to  make  some  concession  to  his  prisoners,  for 
whom  he  professed  a  strong  personal  regard,  with 
his  government  he  was  scornfully  inexorable.  From 
his  inaccessible  mountain  throne  lie  issued  a  still 
more  insolent  and  defiant  decree,  and  the  conference 
broke  np. 

Efforts  were  still  to  be  made  in  America  to  raise 
the  reduced  sum  demanded  by  Peschino,  and  as  the 
time  of  grace  was  growing  short,  the  result  of  the 
efforts  was  to  be  announced  by  the  Atlantic  cable. 
But  the  prisoners  no  longer  indulged  hope.  From 
the  moment  the  brigand  chief  declared  his  •ultima 
tum.  Major  Paul  looked  upon  himself  and  his  com 
panions  as  doomed.  All  comradeship  with  his  ene 
mies  was  forthwith  dropped,  and  he  sank  into  the 
gloom  of  despair.  "  Oh,  my  daughter !"  he  groaned, 
as  his  massive  iron-gray  head  fell  upon  her  shoulder, 
and  his  arms  wound  around  her  neck  —  "my  great, 
grown -up,  handsome  daughter!  Oh,  my  girl,  my 
baby  !  If  it  were  only  I,  but  J/<?</<  Hue  !  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do,  what  shall  I  do  /" 

"Don't  cry,  papa,"  sobbed  Madeline,  her  own  tears 
moistening  his  hair.  "Thank  Heaven  I  am  with 
you !  I'm  not  afraid,  papa.  I  feel  in  my  soul  that 
we  shall  be  saved.  I  have  prayed  to  God,  and  I 
know  he  will  not  let  them  harm  us.  There,  there, 
papa  darling,  don't  cry  so.  I  know  the  robbers  will 
be  satisfied ;  they  will  accept  what  we  can  give,  rath 
er  than  lose  everything  and  have  our  blood  upon 
their  souls." 

"  Oh,  you  poor  little  kitten  !  you  do  not  under- 


102  A   DEMIGOD. 

stand.  The  devils  have  their  rules  ;  they  will  not 
allow  such  a  precedent.  They  believe  I  can  pay  the 
full  ransom,  and  they  will  carry  out  their  threats  as 
a  warning  to  future  captives — contamination  seize 
the  poisonous  cusses !" 

"  But  the  full  ransom  will  be  paid,  if  it  must. 
Our  friends  will  not  let  us  die  here  for  the  sake 
of—" 

"Who  will  pay  it,  my  child? — who  will  pay  it? 
Jobling  &  Ilotchkiss  wouldn't  advance  me  ten  thou 
sand  dollars  beyond  my  credit  to  save  us  all  from 
fire  and  brimstone.  But  that  is  not  all ;  there's  an 
other  demand  which  leaves  no  hope — not  a  red  cent's 
worth  of  hope;  may  the  black  dragon  scorch,  roast, 
fry,  \>YQ\\,fricasee  their  filthy  giblets  to  cinders!" 

"Then,"  said  Madeline,  her  tears  suddenly  ceas 
ing  and  her  face  turning  to  marble,  "  we  will  meet 
our  fate  bravely — we  will  go  hand-in-hand  to  mother" 

Thus  the  heroic  girl  tried  to  sustain  her  despairing 
father,  who  but  for  her  would  have  been  as  brave  as 
he  had  been  on  many  a  bloody  field. 

All  at  once  his  face  lighted  up.  His  own  despair 
ing  question,  "Who  will  pay  it?"  had  suggested  a 
thought  which  promised  salvation,  at  least  to  his  idol 
ized  daughter.  If  she  could  be  persuaded  that,  by 
her  superior  tact  and  the  pathos  of  a  beautiful  wom 
an's  appeal,  she  could  best  raise  the  ransom-money, 
she  could  not  refuse  to  go  back  to  America  instead 
of  Griffin.  The  prospect  of  her  success  would  easily 
gain  Peschino's  consent.  Then,  she  once  safely  out 
of  their  hands,  the  brigands  might  do  their  worst. 


THE    "ANTUROPODAIMON.  103 

1'erhaps  Miss  Wellington  might  ho  allowed  to  go, 
too,  to  hasten  matters — who  knew?  AVith  a  torrent 
of  eager  argument  and  entreaty  he  told  her  of  the 
plan.  She  listened  in  silence,  and  when  he  had  fin 
ished  she  replied,  in  a  low,  calm  voice, 

"If  they  will  let  me,  and  if  Robert  and  Aunt 
Eliza  think  as  you  do,  I  will  go." 

"  That's  my  own  good  girl !"  he  cried,  catching 
her  in  his  arms. 

"  But,  father,  don't  misunderstand  me.  Whether 
I  succeed  or  not,  I  sJudl  come  fh «•/>-. " 

"Great  Polyphemus!  \\-]is\t  for  ?  Isn't  it  better 
that  three  should  perish  thant/fow/M 

"  Dear  papa,  think  for  one  moment.  I  should  be 
on  my  parole,  shouldn't  I  ? — just  as  Robert  was." 

"Hell  ?"  he  asked,  staring  stupidly  at  her. 

"  Didn't  Robert  come  back  (     Wouldn't  you  ?" 

"  I  ? — but — but — you  are  a  woman,  you  know." 

"And  therefore  have  no  Junior.  No,  no,  papa; 
that  will  not  do.  If  Robert  should  consent  to  such 
an  act,  what  would  you  think  of  him?  what  would 
you  say  of  him  C 

"  I  hit,"  he  faltered,  piteously,  "you  are  going,  you 
know,  because  you  can  do  so  much  better  than  he 
can;  you  can  persuade  them,  you  know,  while  he 
couldn't.  That's  reason  enough,  isn't  it?" 

"  It's  a  reason,  perhaps,  why  I  should  go  and  try, 
but  not  why  I  shouldn't  come  back." 

'•  Madeline,"  he  said,  bravely,  but  with  the  hope 
gone  from  his  face,  "  you  heroine,  you  plucky  little 
tiger,  you  are  r'njJit  .r' 


104  A   DEMIGOD. 

An  hour  later  the  four  prisoners  were  seated  on 
the  flat  rock  on  the  outer  side  of  the  pass,  talking 
over  the  plan  which  the  major  had  proposed,  and 
talcing  what  comfort  they  could  from  it.  A  guard 
of  four  brigands  were  lying  at  full  length  on  the 
grassless  ground  near  them,  while  the  sentinel  on  the 
cliff  was  lazily  sitting  a  la  Turk,  his  mind  probably 
as  little  occupied  with  his  duties  as  was  his  body. 
Within  the  pass  Peschino,  with  several  brigands,  was 
in  the  valley,  exhibiting  his  herds  to  the  Government 
agent.  The  residue  of  his  force  were  scattered  here 
and  there  about  camp,  some  with  their  muskets  in 
pieces  to  be  polished  and  oiled.  If  a  government 
force  could  have  surprised  the  guard  at  this  time, 
they  might  have  effected  a  rescue  and  capture  with 
out  the  least  difficulty.  Tstiras,  who,  since  the  exam 
ination  of  Madeline,  had  studiously  avoided  his  fel 
low-prisoners,  was  swinging  in  a  hammock  within  a 
clump  of  trees. 

It  was  a  perfect  day ;  but  the  beautiful  smile  of 
Nature  was  to  the  prisoners  a  smile  of  bitter  irony. 
The  celestial  blue  seemed  serenely  taunting  them 
with  their  dismal  plight ;  the  brooklets  giggled  glee 
fully  at  their  misery ;  the  careless  abandon  of  the 
guard — kindly  enough  designed,  no  doubt — was  an 
insult  to  their  helplessness  which  stung  the  major  to 
one  of  his  sudden  outbursts. 

"  See  the  lazy,  basking  reptiles !  They'd  spring 
up  quick  enough  if  Peschino  should  show  himself. 
Perdition  seize  their  insolence !  don't  they  know  the 
difference  between  a  field-officer  and  a  scrubby  little 


THE   "ANTHROPODAIMON.  105 

captain  without  a  commission,  except  what  the  devil 
lias  given  him!  I  wish  I  had  my  sword  for  three 
mini. 

"I  wish  you  had,  papa,"  said  his  daughter,  mourn- 
fully. 

••/y  prod  the  filthy  camp  scullions !  I — I'd  make 
'em  stand  in  the  position  of  the  soldier,  if  I  had  to 
roast  for  it !" 

"I  wish  you  had  not  only  your  sword  but  the 
whole  — th  regiment  at  your  back  !"  added  Madeline, 
with  gleaming  e_\ 

".I//-/--/1  -/• .'"  The  major's  growl  was  like  that  of 
a  mammoth  terrier  in  the  act  of  shaking  the  life  out 
of  a  rat.  It  even  attracted  the  attention  of  one  of  the 
victims  of  the  imaginary  charge,  who  opened  one  eye 
in  sleepy  wonder,  and  immediately  closed  it  again. 

'•Oh!"  cried  "Madeline,  clasping  her  hands,  while 
her  bosom  swelled  with  the  agony  of  her  prayer, 
"why  will  not  just  and  merciful  Heaven  send  a  le 
gion  of  angels  to  deliver  us!" 

"  Don't  call  on  Heaven/'  Griffin  broke  in,  fiercely. 
His  gay  light  -heartedncss  had  at  last  failed  him. 
"Heaven  smiles  only  on  robbers  and  murderer.-! 
Heaven  delights  in  martyrs  !  The  smoke  of  their 
torment  arises  as  sweet  incense  to  the  pearly  gates !" 

"Hush!"  said  Madeline,  terrified  at  his  bitter 
blasphemy,  "or  we  shall  deserve  our  fate!'' 

"Come,  "Robert,"  added  her  father,  with  unwonted 
solemnity,  "  this  is  no  time  for  such  talk  as  that.  No 
sailor  swears  when  his  ship  is  sinking.  You'd  better 
be  paying  your  prayers,  man." 


100  A   DEMIGOD. 

A  little  while  after  tins  the  party  were  startled  l>y 
a  wild  shriek  from  the  sentinel  on  the  cliff,  who, 
springing  to  his  feet,  fired  his  musket,  and  went  hop 
ping  away  on  one  leg.  This  aroused  the  guard  of 
four,  who  frantically  seized  their  pieces  and  aimed 
them  down  the  path  with  shouts  of  "Antliropodai- 
mon  !  Antliropodaimon  /" 

Looking  in  the  direction  in  which  the  muskets 
were  pointed,  the  prisoners  saw  a  figure  with  bare 
head,  shoulders,  arms,  and  legs,  darting  from  side  to 
side  with  prodigious  agility,  at  the  same  time  that  it 
advanced  rapidly  towards  them. 

The  four  brigands  discharged  their  muskets  almost 
simultaneously,  and  the  next  moment  were  frantically 
scrambling  towards  the  pass,  within  which  they  disap 
peared  with  loud  cries  of  terror,  the  last  one  barely 
escaping  the  grasp  of  the  stranger.  The  latter,  whose 
pursuit  had  been  like  that  of  a  tiger  leaping  upon  its 
prey,  now  turned  towards  the  party  at  the  rock,  and 
burst  into  a  long,  loud  peal  of  laughter.  lie  held  his 
sides,  and  bent  forward  and  back  like  a  huge  rollick 
ing  school-boy.  The  deep,  round,  clear  ha!  ha!  ha! 
rang  out,  echoing  and  re-echoing  until  all  the  majes 
tic  mountains  around  seemed  to  have  lapsed  into  a 
Titanic  frolic. 

The  captives  forgot  their  captivity  and  their  ap 
parent  sudden  release  in  stupefied  amazement.  They 
could  only  gaze  with  open  mouths  and  wide  eyes  -at 
the  marvellous  spectacle. 

In  a  few  seconds  the  stranger's  mirth  ceased  as  ab 
ruptly  as  it  had  begun.  He  bounded  towards  the 


THE   "ANTHROPODAfMON."  107 

rescued  party  before  they  could  collect  their  senses, 
and  hustled  them  without  ceremony  into  the  path, 
down  which  they  found  themselves  the  next  moment 
running  with  might  and  main.  Miss  Wellington's 
pace  not  satisfying  him,  he  caught  her  in  his  arms 
as  if  she  were  an  infant,  and  ran  on  with  undimin- 
ished  speed,  urging  the  rest  before  him  with  cries  of 
"  Greyor  '  '.  <jrl<j»r*i  /"  ( I  lurry  !  hurry  !) 

His  haste  and  solicitude  were  none  too  great.  The 
half-dozen  brigands  within  call  ran  yelling  to  the  top 
of  the  cliff,  and  their  bullets  came  zippiny  viciously 
down  the  hill.  No  one  of  the  fugitives  was  struck, 
however,  and  presently  they  were  hidden  from  their 
enemies  by  the  rocks  and  foliage. 

They  had  descended  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
down  the  path  when  the  rescuer  shouted  "Alt/" 

They  stopped  running,  and  pantingly  awaited  fur 
ther  orders.  They  were  motioned  into  a  by-path 
leading  into  a  thicket,  where  they  were  brought  to  a 
halt.  To  their  increased  astonishment  and  delight, 
their  mysterious  deliverer  now  addressed  them  in 
English,  scarcely  marred  by  an  alien  accent. 

"  They  will  soon  rally  their  force  and  pursue  after 
us.  I  shall  shoot  one,  two,  three — the  rest  shall  re 
treat  away." 

A-  he  said  this  in  a  peculiarly  deep,  resonant 
voice,  he  unslung  a  brass  tube  about  a  yard  in  length, 
which  turned  out  to  be  a  spring-gun  of  enormous 
power.  Pressing  down  the  spring  with  little  appar 
ent  effort,  he  raised  his  hand  to  his  shoulder,  drew 
one  from  a  great  number  of  slender,  feathered  steel 


108  A   DEMIGOD. 

shafts,  and  dropped  it  into  the  bore.  Then  aiming 
at  the  tough,  thick  stem  of  a  stunted  tree  at  a  con 
siderable  distance,  he  released  the  spring.  There  was 
a  sharp  zip,  like  that  of  a  rifle-ball. 

"  Go  and  see,"  he  said  to  Major  Paul. 

The  tree  had  been  pierced  through ;  the  shaft  had 
passed  beyond,  and  was  not  to  be  found. 

"My  televodon  kills  silently,"  the  marksman  said, 
in  his  wonderful,  thrilling  voice,  "  and  it  makes  no 
smoking.  They  have  no  opportune  to  return  my 
shoot.  They  cannot  endure,  and  they  soon  retreat 
away,  like  it  is  from  a  malaria  invisible,  irresistible." 

He  had  scarcely  finished  speaking  when  the  report 
of  a  musket  was  heard.  Aunt  Eliza  uttered  a  sup 
pressed  shriek.  Madeline  turned  pale. 

"  Hide  in  these  bush ;  be  perfectly  quiet,"  ordered 
the  stranger,  sternly.  "I  will  soon  return.  The 
womans  shall  make  no  screams." 

"Let  us  go  with  you,"  urged  Major  Paul,  speak 
ing  for  himself  and  Griffin. 

"No.  You  have  not  arms.  You  shall  only  be 
obstacle.  You  shall  draw  their  guns  to  me  like  to 
yourself." 

"  But  if  anything  happened  to  you  we  could— 

"  Have  I  not  said  NO  ?" 

Before  they  could  recover  from  the  paralyzing  ef 
fect  of  the  word,  the  speaker  had  noiselessly  disap 
peared  in  the  thicket  towards  the  pass. 

"  I'm  going  to  follow  him,"  said  Griffin,  recklessly. 
"  Come  along,  uncle." 

"No,  sir!     Always  obey  orders  from  a  superior, 


THE  "ANTHRQPODAIMON."  109 

especially  in  active  service.     It's  hard,  I  know,  devil 
ish  hard,  but  we  can't  help  it.     Stay  where  you  are." 

They  lay,  as  it  seemed,  for  hours,  listening  with 
strained  ears  to  every  sound.  At  length  there  came 
the  report  of  a  musket — another — a  volley.  Then 
they  heard  loud  voices,  among  which  they  thought 
they  recognized  that  of  Peschino.  The  noises  grad 
ually  receded  until  they  became  inaudible. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  consigned  !"  ejaculated  the  major, 
"if  he  hasn't  driven  the  whole  darned  crowd  into 
their  old  school-house  again  !" 

"  God  bless  him  !  God  bless  him !"  cried  Made 
line,  fervently,  and  the  rest  as  fervently  echoed  the 
benediction — not  excepting  Griffin,  whose  eyes  the 
next  moment  met  those  of  Madeline  fixed  upon  him 
with  a  look  of  pity  mingled  with  awe. 

"Pray"  she  said,  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice — 
"  pray  for  the  forgiveness  of  the  Heaven  you  so 
wickedly  slandered  —  the  Heaven  that  heard  the 
prayer  instead  of  the  blasphemy  !" 

His  eyes  fell,  and  a  dark  ilush  covered  his  face. 

"Madeline,"  said  the  major. 

She  turned  to  him. 

"  I  heard  what  you  two  were  saying  just  before— 
He  paused  and  looked  up  into  the  sky  with  a  dazed 
expression.     "Strange,  wasn't  it?     You  don't  really 
believe  that — that — 

"  That  God  heard  my  prayer  and  answered  it  ? 
Yes,  papa,  I  <Jo.  How  can  any  of  us  be  so  ungrate 
ful  as  to  doubt  it  ?  How  can  we  </<(/••  .'" 

"  It  was  a  remarkable  coincidence — wonderful.    It 


HO  A   DEMIGOD. 

does  seem  as  if — -  I  have  heard  of  such  things  happen 
ing;  but  then,  after  all,  there's  nothing  so  very  mys 
terious  in  a  mere  coincidence.  1  can't  really  believe 
that—" 

"Oh,  papa!"  she  entreated,  "don't  say  it.  Who 
knows  but  there  may  be  another  coincidence  ?" 

Her  words  struck  him  with  a  sudden  awe.  "  "Well," 
he  said,  presently,  "  I  confess  I  shouldn't  have  the 
hardihood  to  say  what  Robert  said." 

At  this  moment  their  champion  appeared  boldly 
walking  down  the  path.  It  is  impossible  to  convey  an 
adequate  idea  of  the  free,  springing  elasticity  of  his 
stride.  It  was  as  if  he  were  the  proud,  unquestioned 
monarch  of  the  mountains.  As  he  came  nearer,  their 
attention  was  attracted  to  another  and  a  very  differ 
ent  matter — his  left  arm  was  bound  with  a  ligature, 
and  was  covered  with  blood. 

"  Oh,  sir,  your  arm !"  cried  Madeline,  running  to 
meet  him  ;  but  her  swift  step  was  suddenly  checked 
by  his  impatient  answer : 

"  Make  not  fuss,  young  woman  !  It  is  a  random 
gun.  No  bodies  have  saw  me.  It  is  in  the  flesh 
only,  and  the  ball  have  gone  out.  You  shall  put  a 
more  better  band  on  the  arm." 

All  eagerly  pressed  forward  with  offers  of  assist 
ance,  tearing  their  handkerchiefs  into  strips.  As 
Madeline  readjusted  the  ligature  and  tenderly  wiped 
away  the  blood,  she  was  struck  with  admiration  at 
the  magnificently  formed  limb.  While  she  is  deftly 
performing  her  grateful  office,  let  us  look  leisurely 
at  her  patient. 


THE   RETREAT.  Ill 


IX. 

THE    RETEEAT. 

THE  prevailing  impression  the  stranger  makes  is 
that  of  supreme  virile  power,  an  abounding  vitality 
•that  pervades  the  whole  man  like  an  inward  fire.  A 
mighty  soul  looks  out  from  large,  dark  eyes  clear 
and  luminous  as  those  of  a  child.  He  is  nearly  sev 
en  feet  in  height,  but  formed  with  such  symmetry 
that  he  seems  tall  only  because  he  is  standing  beside 
others.  Then,  indeed,  he  seems  colossal.  His  head 
is  the  ideal  Caucasian  ovoid,  thickly  covered  with 
short,  crisp  brown  curls.  His  massive  shoulders, 
deep  chest,  and  powerful  limbs  tell  of  ability  for 
mighty  achievement,  while  bright  intellectual  vigor, 
such  as  in  all  its  freshness  accompanies  only  the  har 
monious  play  of  all  the  functions,  is  manifest  in  his 
countenance.  In  short,  with  a  somewhat  less  pro 
nounced  muscular  development,  he  would  present  in 
form  and  feature  a  model  such  as  Phidias  might  have 
chosen  for  a  Hermes.  His  dress  consists  of  a  sleeve 
less  jacket,  low  in.  the  neck  and  curiously  embroid 
ered,  fustanelli  of  linen  reaching  only  to  the  knee, 
and  stout  shoes  of  goat-skin.  From  a  narrow  leath 
ern  waist-belt  is  suspended  a  richly  mounted  dagger, 
while  two  cross-belts  of  the  same  material  and  width 
sustain  the  brazen  spring-gun  and  the  quiver  of  steel 
shafts  which  have  served  so  good  a  purpose. 


113  A   DEMIGOD. 

"Be  quick,  Madeline,"  said  her  father.  "We 
must  get  away  from  here,  or  those  wolves  will  be 
after  us  again." 

"No,"  said  the  champion;  "they  will  dare  not  to 
come  if  they  shall  not  see  us  in  the  path.  They  are 
too  afraid  for  the  silent  bullet  which  comes  from  the 
wind.  We  shall  stay  here  a  little  more  time." 

"  You  are  English  peoples  ?"  he  asked,  presently. 

"  No,  your  excellency,"  replied  the  major,  with  the« 
greatest  possible  deference  ;  "  we  are  Americans." 

"  It  is  no  difference.  But  you  must  not  say  to  me 
'  your  excellence.'  I  am  not  excellence." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.     I  won't  again." 

"Pardon!  Why-fore?  Have  you  commit  some 
crimes  ?" 

"  No,  your—     Excuse  me,  I — " 

"  Excuse  you  !  What  do  you  mean  ?  I  do  not 
understand." 

"  I  mean,  I  ask  your  pardon  for  my  mistake." 

"Why-fore  shall  I  pardon  you  for  you  make  mis 
take  ?  Is  it  some  wickedness  2" 

The  major  colored  up  and  began  to  flounder  again, 
when  Madeline  came  to  his  relief.  "  It  is  a  custom 
with  us,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  "  to  ask  pardon  for 
an  innocent  mistake  as  if  it  were  a  real  offence." 

He  turned  his  great,  inquiring  eyes  upon  her. 
"  Then  what  shall  you  say  when  you  do  the  real  of 
fence  ?  Shall  you  ask  the  pardon  then,  too  ?" 

"  Of  course.  There  is  all  the  more  occasion  for  it 
then." 

"  But  that  what  you  say — it  is  no  different  ?" 


TilE  RETREAT.  113 

"  Oli,  wo  say  it  with  a  great  deal  more  feeling — 
more  earnestness,  you  know." 

'•  Why-fore  do  you  say  I  know?  I  do  not  know 
until  you  shall  tell  me." 

At  this  they  all  indulged  in  a  tenderly  good-nat 
ured,  highly  respectful  laugh.  "We  use  a  good 
many  forms  in  our  speech,"  Madeline  explained, 
"  which  have  no  real  meaning,  but  which  serve  to 
smooth  and  round  out  our  sentences." 

"  I  understand  him  now.  How  long  time  have 
you  been  at  captivity  ?" 

"Twenty -seven  days,"  answered  Major  Paul, 
promptly. 

"It  is  a  long  time.  It  was  tcllcd  to  me  this  morn 
ing.  I  came  to  you  so  quickly  as  I  could  come." 

"  You  came  in  good  time,"  replied  Madeline,  with 
deep  feeling,  and  her  father  added, 

"  Heaven  must  have  sent  you,  indeed,  as  my  daugh 
ter  says!  1  .-lioiild  be  a  cursed  Judas  to  doubt  it." 

"Our  poor  thanks,"  continued  Madeline, k>  are  so 
utterly  inadequate,  that,  indeed,  we  are  almost 
ashamed  to  offer  them.  But  we  can  at  least  pray 
God  to  shower  his  richest  blessings  on  you." 

"  Allow  me  to  say,  general,"  put  in  the  major, 
his  face  growing  red  and  his  breath  coming  noisily, 
"  that  you  have  done  alone,  and  almost  unarmed,  what 
that  infernal  villain  boasted  the  whole  Greek  Gov 
ernment  couldn't  do.  You  are  a  wonderful  man, 
your  excel —  13eg  pardon,  sir.  There  isn't  your  equal 
in  the  world — no,  sir,  not  by  a  thousand  per  cent. ! 
You  can  be  no  other  than  the  famous  personage  of 


114  A  DEMIGOD. 

whom  sucli  wonderful  stories  are  told.  I  beg  your 
pard —  Excuse  me,  I  didn't  'mean — but — but  isn't 
your  name  Yyr — Hector  Yyr?" 

The  stranger  smiled,  displaying  two  rows  of  teeth, 
even,  strong,  and  white  as  those  of  a  savage. 

"  My  name  is  Hector  Yyr,"  he  answered.  "  Your 
name  is  Mr.  Fowl  ?" 

"  Paul,  sir ;  not  Fowl.  The  young  lady  who  is 
dressing  your  arm  is  my  .daughter,  Miss  Madeline 
Paul ;  this  lady  is  my  sister-in-law,  Miss  Eliza  Well 
ington  ;  this  young  gentleman  is  my  nephew,  Mr. 
Robert  L.  Griffin  ;  and  we  are  all  your  grateful  serv 
ants  for  life,  Mr.  Yyr." 

"  There,"  said  Madeline,  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction, 
"  that  is  the  best  I  can  do  for  your  arm  until  we  can 
find  some  water.  I  hope  I  did  not  hurt  you  very 
much,  Mr.  Yyr?" 

"  You  did  hurt  me  very  much,  Miss  Paul ;  but  I 
did  know  you  could  not  prevent  it.  I  did  not  think 
of  the  pain.  I  give  to  you  thanks  for  your  helps  to 
me." 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  I  beg  you  not  to  speak  of  such 
a  trifle.  If  there  were  only  something  a  thousand 
times  greater  we  could  do  for  you,  we  should  all  be 
so  glad  to  do  it!  Is  there  not  something  more  we 
can  do,  Mr.  Yyr?" 

The  amazing  reply  was : 

"Let  me  to  see  your  tectlis" 

As  soon  as  her  friends  had  finished  staring  at  one 
another,  and  she  was  sure  she  had  heard  aright,  she 
uttered  an  embarrassed  "  Certainly,"  and  at  once  ex- 


THE   IlETREAT.  115 

hibited  two  sets  of  pearl  as  perfect  as  his  own,  though 
on  a  very  different  scale. 

"It  is  good,"  he  said,  as  if  to  himself;  "yet  I 
thinks  you  do  eat  the  confection  and  drink  the  hot 
teas  and  the  coffees,  like  to  your  other  peoples." 

"Are  you  a — a  dentist?"  asked  Aunt  Eliza,  tim 
idly. 

'•  What  is  'dentist,'  Miss  Wellington  ?  Ah,  I  know 
that  what  it  is :  dens,  dentis.  Do  you  mean  teeth- 
doctor  2" 

Aunt  Eliza  bowed  assent. 

"Not  more  than  I  am  all  kinds  of  doctors.  I 
think  I  am  that  what  you  can  name  health-monoma 
niac.  My  father  was  one  of  those,  and  his  father, 
and  his  father — and  away  behind  for  great  many  of 
generation.  I  asked  Miss  Paul  that  she  shall  show 
to  me  her  teeths,  because  she  is  so  perfect  in  all  oth 
er  thing  that  I  was  inquisitive  how  she  shall  endure 
the  test  so  delicate."  Turning  to  Madeline.  "I 
think  you  do  breathe  the  bacteria  in  the  cities,  and 
the  dirt  of  the  carpet,  and  you  do  dance  all  the  nights 
in  the  gas-lights  like  everybodies  C 

k'  Indeed,"  rejoined  .Madeline,  trying  to  cover  her 
confusion  by  laughing,  "  I  am  not  nearly  so  dissi 
pated  as  you  think  me,  Mr.  Vyr.  Have  I  not  lived 
a  very  sensible  life,  papa  :" 

"  Oh  yes ;  of  course,  of  course — some  of  the  time." 

"  Oh,  you  tr<tditore!  Well,  at  all  events  I've  had 
little  enough  chance  for  dissipation  lately.  I've 
breathed  nothing  but  mountain  air,  and  haven't  even 
seen  a  gas-light  for  a  month  at  least." 


116  A   DEMIGOD. 

Vyr  electrified  the  party  again  by  turning  abrupt 
ly  to  her  father  with,  "  Your  daughter  is  the  most 
beautifulest  young  woman  I  have  ever  saw." 

Poor  Madeline  blushed  to  the  very  roots  of  her 
hair,  Miss  Wellington  uttered  an  astounded  "Why  !" 
Eobert  Griffin's  lower  jaw  dropped,  and  the  major 
coughed  an  embarrassed,  "  Il'm,  li'm — thank  you,  sir 
— a  very  great  honor,  I'm  sure." 

"Honor?"  echoed  Vyr,  glancing  curiously  at  each 
face  in  turn.  "  ~No.  Why-fore  is  it  honor  ?  She 
did  not  make  herself  to  be  beautiful  like  to  the  paint 
ed  actress  ;  she  should  not  feel  shame  and  be  red  be 
cause  I  say  truth  ;  she  should  say,  '  Yes,  I  am  beau 
tiful  like  to  the  anemone,  I  am  happy  like  to  the 
singing-bird,  I  am  bright  like  to  the  sparkling  cas 
cade,  I  am  well  and  strong  like  to  the  young  chamois 
— yet,  not  like  to  all  those,  I  am  educate  and  culti 
vate  like  to  the  pale,  ill  lady  of  the  cities ;'  and  she 
should  fall  down  on  her  knees,  and  pray  to  the  Great 
One  who  gives  all  those  good  things,  and  say  to  him, 
'  I  am  only  a  little,  little  flower,  infinitely  below  those 
majestic  mountains,  those  vast  blue  skies,  those  mul 
titude  of  glorious  stars — yet  my  little  heart  is  full 
with  thank  and  adorations  because  for  my  beautiful- 
ness  and  my  sweet  fragrance,  and  it  is  compassionate 
for  those  peoples  which  are  weak  and  ill  and  ugly.' " 

That  Hector  Vyr  has  already  made  progress  in  the 
use  of  English,  even  in  the  short  time  we  have  known 
him,  cannot,  of  course,  have  escaped  our  notice.  It 
appears  less,  however,  in  his  words  than  in  his  im 
proved  modulation  and  diminished  hesitancy.  The 


THE    RETUEAT.  117 

last  long  speech  was  delivered  with  scarcely  a  break, 
and  with  perfect  self-possession.  lie  seemed  utterly 
unconscious  of  having  expressed  any  but  the  most 
conventional  of  commonplaces.  lie  quickly  saw, 
however,  the  awkward  constraint  he  had  produced 
among  his  auditors,  and  went  on,  with  the  evident 
intention  of  restoring  them  to  equanimity  : 

"  You  are  not  accustomed  to  words  like  those  ? 
You  say  truth  of  all  things  except  yourselves  and 
those  peoples  to  which  you  speak  ?  If  I  say  truth  of 
you,  it  is  the  flattery  ?  if  I  say  truth  of  myself,  it  is 
the  vanity  ?  Is  it  so  as  1  say  i"  addressing  Madeline. 

"It  is  apt  to  be  so  regarded,"  she  replied,  fast  re 
gaining  her  self-poise. 

"  But  why-fore  'C '  he  persisted,  earnestly.  "  That 
mountain,  is  he  not  lofty  and  grand  i  and  do  I  not 
say  it?  It  is  not  flattery  to  the  mountain.  Do  you 
not  know  you  are  beautiful,  Miss  Paul  f 

The  poor  girl,  suffused  again  with  blushes,  looked 
appealingly  from  him  to  her  friends. 

"  \Vc  know  it,  if  she  doesn't!"  Griffin  answered  for 
her.  There  was  a  certain  metallic  ring  in  his  voice, 
and  a  hard,  enduring  look  in  his  face,  as  he  spoke. 

"And  Miss  Paul  knows  it — she  does  not  dare  to 
say  no.  So  it  is  not  the  flattery,  which  is  only  lies. 
Is  not  the  vanity  lies,  too  '. — lies  to  himself?  You 
know,  for  instance,  that  I  am  strong  and  brave,  do 
not  you  '" 

"  We  have  had  the  most  ample  evidence  of  that," 
answered  Madeline,  with  alacrity. 

"Then,  if  I,  too,  know  it,  why-fore  shall  I  not  say 


118  A   DEMIGOD. 

it?  It  would  he  boasts,  it  would  be  pomposity, 
egotism — would  it  ?" 

"An  ordinary  person  might,  perhaps,  be  open  to 
those  charges,"  said  Madeline,  her  features  now  re 
laxing  into  an  amused  smile. 

'•  I5ut  Mr.  Vyr  is  not  an  ordinary  person,''  inter 
posed  Miss  Wellington,  with  decision.  "  I  am  sure 
it  would  he  perfectly  proper  for  him  to  say  all  this 
of  himself,  and  much  more,  too,  if  he  chose." 

"  Well,  I  should  say  so  !"  assented  the  major,  with 
an  emphatic  blow  of  his  open  hand  on  his  knee. 

No  one  could  say  that  Vyr  frowned  at  this  broad 
compliment.  What  right  had  he  to  express  displeas 
ure  ?  Had  he  not  himself  been  still  more  outspoken? 
Had  he  not  invited  the  free  expression  of  their  in 
most  thoughts  by  his  own  example  ?  There  was  not 
the  slightest  perceptible  knitting  of  his  brows;  he 
did  not  assume  a  sudden  air  of  offended  dignity ;  his 
head  was  not  a  hairVbreadth  more  erect  than  before. 
He  simply  looked  at  the  speakers  an  instant  without 
replying.  Nevertheless,  Miss  Wellington  could  not 
have  blushed  more  painfully  if  she  had  unwittingly 
offended  a  monarch  on  his  throne.  Vyr  perceived 
her  uncalled  for  embarrassment,  and  immediately  a 
gracious  smile  broke  out  over  his  face. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  grow  red  at  Miss  Wellington's 
words,"  he  said,  "  like  Madeline.  Ah,  you  are  of 
fended,  Miss  Paul,  because  I  speak  your  own  name ; 
your  beautiful  upward  smile  of  amusement  is  change 
to  a  downward  smile  of  proud  ness ;  you  lift  up  your 
head  like  to  a  queen.  Why-fore  ?  I  have  broke  the 


THE    KETREAT.  119 

law  of  etiquette  \     AVell,  all  the  laws  have  penalties. 
Js  it  so  aa  i  say  '." 

no  one  vouchsafed  a  ready  answer,  he  went  on : 
"  You  will  punish  me — you  will  say  to  me,  'Mr.Vyr, 
you  have  done  to  us  a  service,  and  for  that  we  give 
to  you  great  thanks,  and  we  will  also  do  you  a  service 
when  we  can  ;  hut  you  are  a  great  savage,  and  we 
must  not  associate.'  " 

"  Thunder  of  great  waters,  no !"  blurted  out  the 
major.  i%  AVe  are  not  such  ungrateful  fools  as  that, 
I  hope.  Call  her  or  any  of  the  rest  of  us  what  you 
please.  Madeline,  why  don't  you  speak?" 

"Indeed,  papa,  I—  We  are  all  under  too  great  ob 
ligations  to  Mr.Vyr  to  take  offence  at  any  little  un- 
conventionalities  he  may  indulge  in.  He  meant  no 
offence,  I  am  sure,  and  I  am  not  so  silly  as  to  take 
offence." 

"You  make  a  mistake,  Miss  Paul;  I  <Ii<1  mean 
offence." 

Another  general  stare. 

"Not  great  offence,  my  friends.  J  have  heard 
that  in  the  civilixed  country  it  is  more  worse  to 
break  the  law  of  etiquette  than  to  break  the  law  of 
the  Government,  and  so  I  have  make  the  little  ex 
periment.  1  wish  to  know  if  you  will  forget  the 
.ice  which  I  have  render  to  you  because  I  am 
rude  a  little.  I  wish  to  get  to  myself  knowledge  of 
different  kind  of  peoples.  I  respect  the  young  wom 
an  and  her  friends,  and  i  make  to  them  honorable 
apology  because  I  speak  her  real  name,  and  because  I 
say  she  is  beautiful.  Have  I  done  that  what  is  right  ?" 


120  A   DEMIGOD. 

Madeline  walked  bravely  up  to  bim  and  extended 
her  hand.  "Please  say  no  more  about  it,  Mr.  Vyr. 
You  make  us  feel  very  insignificant.  If  it  will  give 
you  amusement  or  information  to  try  experiments 
upon  us,  I  am  sure  we  ought  to  submit  with  thank 
fulness  that  it  is  in  our  power  to  afford  you  any  grat 
ification  whatever." 

lie  took  her  firm  little  hand  with  evident  pleas 
ure.  An  indescribable  sensation  of  vital  warmth 
shot  up  her  arm  to  her  heart  like  an  electric  shock. 

"No,  Miss  Paul,"  he  returned.  "You  shall  tdl 
to  me  that  what  I  wish  to  know  of  the  custom  and 
feeling  in  the  polite  society." 

"  Perhaps  we  can  tell  you  something  of  the  cus 
toms"  she  rejoined,  with  an  "  upward  smile."  "  As 
to  feelings,  the  more  polite  the  society  the  less  we 
know  on  that  subject." 

"  And  is  it  true  that  it  is  more  worse  to  be  igno 
rant  of  the  polite  customs  than  it  is  to  commit  some 
crimes  ?  If  it  is  true,  Hector  Vyr  must  be  a  terrible 
criminal  in  London  and  Boston.  Would  he  be  hang 
from  his  neck  ?" 

"Rather  a  dangerous  thing  to  try  —  that  would 
be!"  said  Major  Paul.  "No,  sir.  You  would  be  the 
greatest  lion  that  over  condescended  to  favor  those 
cities  with  his  presence." 

"  Ah,  put  in  the  strong  cage  and  exhibit  with  the 
tigers  and  the  bears.  It  would  be  very  good.  I  am 
a  wild  man  of  the  mountains ;  I  have  never  gone  to 
the  cities  except  two  times  to  Athens." 

"How,  then,  did  you  learn  to  speak  English  so 


THE   RETREAT.  12j 

well  ?"  asked  Griffin,  who  had  been  remarkably  reti 
cent  for  him. 

"  My  mother  is  an  English  lady,  and  a  good  many 
years  ago  she  talked  to  me  in  her  own  language." 

"Is  she  living  now  :"* 

"  Yes,  I  thank  God  that  she  is  living;  but  we  have 
not  talked  English  for  long,  long  time.  She  loves 
my  father's  language  better.  But  we  have  English 
books  and  magazine  which  I  read.  And  last  vear  I 
saved  three  captivated  Englishmen  from  the  klcphts, 
like  you,  and  they  lived  with  ns  in  our  house  three 
weeks.  You  will  all  come  to  my  house,  too,  and 
stay  a  long  time.  Yon  will  teach  me  more  English, 
and  tell  mo  such  things  that  my  books  and  papers 
do  not  say.'* 

Major  Paul  accepted  the  invitation  with  the  warm 
est  thanks,  but  could  not  think  of  remaining  more 
than  a  day  or  two  at  the  longest. 

"I'ut  have  you  not  said  that  you  would  do  all 
what  you  could  for  me?"  asked  Yyr,  with  a  look  of 
surprise.  "  You  are  not  hastened  ;  you  have  not 
great  businesses  to  do;  you  arc  making  a  travel  of 
observation  and  pleasure.  I  offer  you  much  observa 
tion,  and — is  it  egotism.  Miss  Paul? — I  think  I  can 
oiler  you  much  pleasure  also." 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  that,  sir,"  replied  the  ma 
jor.  "It  would  ill  become  us  to  decline  an  invita 
tion  so  generously  and  cordially  given,  especially  by 
one  whom  we  are  so  anxious  to  please." 

••Why-fore  did  not  you  say  that  before?"  Vyr 
asked,  with  simple  frankness.  "  Did  you  think  I  did 


122  A  DEMIGOD. 

not  wish  that  you  should  stay  a  long  time  at  my 
house  ?" 

"  I — I — "  The  great,  clear,  questioning  eyes  threw 
the  major  into  a  kind  of  stage  fright.  lie  turned 
appealingly  to  his  daughter ;  but  before  she  could 
speak,  Aunt  Eliza  volunteered  the  explanation : 

"My  brother  was  afraid  we  should  trespass  too 
long  upon  your  hospitality." 

"Then  why-fore  did  you  think  I  asked  you?  Ah, 
I  understand,  it  was  one  of  the  forms  of  your  speech 
that  Miss  Paul  tolled  me  to  'smooth  and  round  out 
your  sentences.'  "  lie  smiled  again.  "  I  am  afraid 
that  I  shall  not  know  when  you  say  that  what  you 
mean." 

"We  must  be  very  careful,"  said  Madeline,  "and 
be  entirely  frank  when  we  are  speaking  to  Mr.  Vyr." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  learn  in  a  little  time  more.  You  shall 
be  patient  and  teach  me." 

"  Well,"  said  Major  Paul,  rallying,  "  we  will  visit 
you  as  long  as  you  want  us  to,  I  guess.  And  I  hope 
that  we  may  have  an  opportunity  to  reciprocate  the 
favor  in  our  own  country." 

"  Yes,  indeed !"  added  his  daughter ;  "  that  is  no 
mere  'form  of  speech,'  I  assure  you.  Papa  and  I, 
and  all  of  us,  mean  exactly  what  he  says." 

Hector  Vyr  shook  his  head.  "  I  must  not  do  that. 
I  seldom  go  far  away  from  my  own  house.  I  like  a 
few  guests — not  many  of  them,  and  not  many  times 
— but  I  wish  not  that  I  shall  be  the  object  of  ob 
servation.  I  tell  to  you  now,  like  as  I  tell  to  my 
other  guests,  that  I  have  made  the  oath,  like  to  my 


THE   HETHEAT.  120 

father,  and  like  to  Ms  father,  to  avoid  all  notori 
eties." 

"  You  wish  to  know  others,  without  being  known 
yourself,"  said  Madeline.  "Do  you  think  that  is 
(juite/'///',  Mr.  Vyr  f ' 

"Fair?" 

"Do  you  think  it  is  quite  just  to  others?" 

"  Ah,  just.  No,  Miss  Paul ;  it  is  unjustice.  It  is 
like  to  the  detective  which  hides  himself  and  looks 
very  .slyly  through  the  little  holes  in  the  walls.  But 
the  world  has  no  necessity  for  Hector  Vyr,  although 
he  has  great  necessity  for  the  world.  It  is  infinity 
for  me  to  see  and  know  in  the  mountains,  the  trees, 
the  birds,  the  beasts,  the  little  insects,  the  rocks,  and 
the  uncnltivate  peoples  which  live  here  with  me ; 
but  I  wish  to  know  every  things.  It  is  only  a  few 
sides  of  me  which  grow  here ;  I  wish  that  all  sides 
of  my  heart  and  my  intellects  shall  grow.  I  wish 
not  to  tie  up  one  little  finger-joint  in  my  body  or 
my  heart  or  my  intellects." 

Here  Griffin  once  more  broke  his  moody  silence : 
"I  shohld  think  the  best  way  to  accomplish  your 
purpose  would  be  to  go  over  the  world  and  see  for 
yourself." 

The  formidable  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  on  the 
young  man  before  the  answer  came:  "Do  you  not 
understand  ?  Have  not  I  tolled  you  ?  Why-fore  do 
not  you  listen,  if  you  shall  talk  too  ?  Shall  1  be  ego 
tist,  and  say  that  peoples  will  not  let  me  to  be  in 
peace  ?  They  will  run  to  look  at  me,  like  as  I  am  a 
big  hippopotamus;  they  will  importune  to  make  me 


124  A  DEMIGOD. 

to  be  generals  and  councillors  and  lecturers.  I  have 
swore  not  to  be  those  things,  and  I  like  not  so  great 
troubles." 

"  But,"  said  Madeline,  "  have  you  never  considered 
how  much  good  you  might  be  the  means  of  doing  in 
the  world  ?  Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  give  your 
fellow-men  the  benefit  of  your  abilities  ?" 

She  and  her  friends  eagerly  listened  for  his  answer. 

"  It  is  not  good  for  me  to  talk  to  you ;  you  do  not 
listen  to  me.  Forgive  me — I  am  not  gentle.  I  am 
not  accustom  to  talk  to  peoples  which  live  in  the  civ 
ilized  country.  But  you  shall  teach  me  to  be  gentle. 
I  have  said  to  you  that  the  world  has  not  the  neces 
sity  for  Hector  Yyr.  They  have  too  much  already 
— too  much  generals,  too  much  councillors,  too  much 
talkers,  too  much  writers  of  books  and  magazine — 
too  much  to  see,  to  hear,  to  read,  to  eat — too  much 
everything.  Why-fore  shall  they  wish  more  of  those 
things  ?  No,  my  friends,  men  should  not  wish  more 
outside,  but  more  inside ;  not  more  to  see,  but  better 
eyes ;  not  more  to  hear,  but  better  ears  ;  not  more  to 
read,  but  better  brains ;  not  more  to  eat,  but  better 
bodies." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Yyr,"  replied  Madeline,  "I  fear  you  do 
not  know  the  world  very  well  yet.  There  are  count 
less  thousands  who  sadly  need  more  to  cat" 

"  The  world  is  better,  the  race  of  men  is  better, 
that  the  feeble  shall  not  eat." 

This  inhuman  sentiment  was  received  with  uncon 
cealed  disapprobation. 

"  I  am  a  monster,"  Vcrc  continued,  smiling.     "  I 


THE  RETREAT.  125 

have  not  a  heart.  Well,  Xature  is  herself  a  monster, 
too.  She  lias  not  a  heart ;  she  permits  all  the  little, 
weak,  sick  lions  to  starve  for  million  years,  until  it  is 
none  but  great,  mighty  lions  ;  and  if  greater,  mighti 
er  men  do  not  kill  them,  the  world  would  be  full 
with  great,  mighty  lions.  To-day  is  not  all  the  time, 
Miss  Paul.  I  have  heart  for  the  million  thousand 
men  which  will  live  million  years  hereafter,  and  I 
like  them  not  to  be  the  posterity  from  wreak  little 
peoples  which  must  be  fed  like  to  the  babies.  I  have 
heart  for  the  wrhole  race  of  men,  in  all  the  time,  not 
only  to-day.  So  I  say  to  yon,  it  is  more  better  for 
mankind  that  those  peoples  which  are  not  strong  and 
skilful  to  get  meat  for  themselves  shall  not  eat." 

"You  forget  that  it  is  not  the  feeble  only  who 
suffer  destitution,"  replied  Madeline,  her  heart  throb 
bing  with  mingled  indignation  and  apprehension  at 
the  consciousness  of  having  actually  entered  into  an 
argument  with  him.  u  Many  are  unfortunate  through 
no  fault  or  deficiency  of  their  own." 

"  Xature  do  not  turn  away  from  her  great  laws 
because  of  every  little  exceptions,  Miss  Paul,"  he  an 
swered,  smiling  indulgently. 

"  But  you  are  not  Nature,  Mr.  Yyr.  You  have  a 
will  of  your  own,  which  Xature  has  not." 

"  Do  not  you  think  that  lie  which  has  made  Nat 
ure,  and  which  governs  Xature,  has  a  will  of  His 
own  ?  Do  you  think  that  He  wishes  that  the  feeble 
and  the  undevelop  shall  be  perpetuate  to  the  future?" 

"  I — suppose  nut.  lint — but — I  have  no  doubt  it  is 
His  will  that  we — you  as  well  as  the  rest,  Mr.  Yyr — 


126  A  DEMIGOD. 

to  whom  He  has  given  wills  of  our  own,  should  do 
everything  in  our  power  to  help  the  weak  and  the 
unfortunate,  to  feed  the  hungry,  clothe  the  naked — •" 

"  Yes,  yes,  Miss  Paul,''  burst  in  Hector  Vyr,  "  your 
heart  is  noble  like  as  your  face  is  beautiful !  /  wish, 
too,  to  feed  the  hungry  and  to  clothe  the  naked  which 
come  in  my  path,  because  my  Jieart  has  pity  for  them. 
I  wish  to  rescue  the  unfortunate  in  every  place  which 
I  find  them,  if  it  is  my  power." 

This  with  a  gentle  significance  impossible  to  mis 
understand. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  Madeline  replied,  with  sudiVn  re 
vulsion  of  feeling,  "  your  acts  have  shown  that  you 
have  a  heart,  in  spite  of  what  you  say,  Mr.  Vyr." 

"  I  have  my  mission,  I  think,  like  everybodies  ;  but 
I  think  it  is  not  that  I  shall  go  through  the  world  to 
keep  alive  all  the  weak  peoples  which  I  can  find, 
that  they  can  transmit  their  feeble  bodies  and  intel 
lects  to  future  generation." 

"  Madeline !  Madeline !"  ejaculated  the  major, 
"  what  are  you  talking  about  ?  Isn't  it  mission 
enough  to  stand  guard  over  these  mountain  devils? 
Talk  about  keeping  folks  alive!  Sun,  moon,  and 
stars !  hasn't  he  kept  us  alive  ?" 

"You  speak  too  much  of  that  what  I  have  done, 
Mr.  Paul,"  said  Vyr,  with  the  slightest  possible  shade 
of  annoyance.  "  The  young  woman  asks  me  why-fore 
I  do  not  go  out  over  the  world  and  do  some  great 
things  which  she  thinks  I  can  do.  I  say  to  her  that 
men  do  not  have  necessity  to  see  great  things ;  they 
see  too  much  already.  It  is  necessity  that  there  shall 


THE   VYUS  AT  HOME.  137 

be  a  more  perfect  race  of  men,  not  that  there  shall 
be  more  great  tilings  to  make  them  open  wide  their 
eves  and  their  mouths/' 

"  Well,"  said  Griffin,  "may  I  ask,  Mr.  Vyr,  how 
you  propose  to  bring  it  about  2" 

"  I  cannot  bring  it  about,  Mr.  Griffin ;  but  every 
one  can  make  himself  better  and  stronger  if  he  shall 
choose,  and  that  can  help  the  generations  which  shall 
come." 

This  was  the  reply  in  words ;  but  the  magnificent 
figure  drawn  up  to  its  full  height,  dwarfing  the  rest 
by  comparison,  the  glorious  countenance  serene  with 
conscious  superiority,  were  a  far  more  forcible  and 
a  sufficient  answer. 

"Now,"  said  Vyr,  a  little  later,  "  I  know  that  the 
klephts  are  no  more  watching  at  us.  They  think 
that  we  have  gone  away.  You  shall  creep  through 
those  bush.  Go  not  near  to  the  path  till  I  shall  tell. 
I  will  come  after  you  behind." 


X. 

THE    VYUS    AT    IIoMK. 

TWILIGHT  was  just  beginning  to  soften  the  nearer 
outlines  of  the  landscape  and  to  sharpen  those  more 
distant,  when  the  rescued  party  and  their  rescuer 
came  to  a  dee]),  wide  chasm  cutting  directly  across 
their  path — one  of  the  very  pits,  perhaps,  into  which 
0 


128  A  DEMIGOD. 

the  old  Spartans  used  to  throw  their  criminals.  Be 
yond  arose  a  forest-covered  mountain  of  very  irregular 
outline. 

"We  have  come  near  to  my  house,  now,"  said 
Hector  Vyr.  "  You  can  see  it  up  there.  It  gleams 
whitely  among  the  trees." 

"  But  how  in  the  world  are  we  to  get  there  ?"  asked 
Madeline,  as  she  gazed  shrinkingly  into  the  fearful 
abyss. 

"  It  will  be  very  easy,  Miss  Paul,"  replied  Vyr, 
"  when  I  shall  make  my  bridge  across."  He  seized 
the  long,  branchless  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree  with  his 
right  hand,  and  holding  down  one  end  with  his  foot, 
raised  it  to  a  perpendicular,  and  allowed  it  to  fall 
across  the  chasm.  Then,  after  trying  it  to  see  that 
it  did  not  roll,  he  said,  "  Now  I  will  carry  one  across, 
and  then  I  will  come  back  and  carry  another.  I 
could  carry  two  at  one  time  if  my  arm  is  not  sore. 
Who  shall  go  at  the  first  ?" 

As  no  one  responded,  he  walked  over  alone  and 
returned,  with  as  much  apparent  unconcern  as  if  he 
were  crossing  London  Bridge.  "  You  see  how  that 
it  is  easy  and  safe.  Will  you  go  across  alone  by 
yourselves  ?  It  is  no  toll  to  pay." 

Griffin  walked  about  half-way  across,  often  stop 
ping  to  make  sure  of  his  balance,  when,  happening 
to  glance  downward,  his  head  gave  way,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  finish  the  transit  on  all  fours. 

"Now,  then,  Eliza,"  said  the  major,  "it's  your 
turn  next." 

"Oh,  I   can't.     I   shall   be   dashed   in   pieces.     I 


THE   VYES   AT   HOME.  129 

wouldn't  trust  myself  on  that  log  for  a  thousand 
worlds." 

"  Shall  I  carry  you  ?"  asked  Vyr,  persuasively. 

"  Indeed  I  haven't  the  courage,  Mr.  Vyr.  I'm 
afraid  I  should  not  only  sacrifice  my  own  life  but 
yours  also." 

"1  am  not  afraid,  Miss  Wellington.  It  is  no  dan 
ger  if  you  shall  keep  yourself  still  on  my  arm." 

After  much  more  persuasion  she  consented,  and 
was  safely  deposited  on  the  other  side,  notwithstand 
ing  her  feeble  little  clutches  and  small  shrieks. 

Madeline  proposed  to  try  to  walk  over  if  Mr.  Yyr 
would  go  first,  giving  her  his  hand  ;  but  on  being  as 
sured  that  such  a  method  would  involve  the  almost 
certain  destruction  of  both,  she  followed  Aunt  Eliza's 
example.  With  closed  eyes  and  suspended  breath, 
seated  on  his  powerful  arm,  her  own  clasped  around 
his  neck,  she  felt  as  if  she  were  riding  over  in  an 
iron  chair. 

Major  Paul  went  last,  hitching  along  astride,  and 
helping  himself  with  his  hands,  to  the  great  merri 
ment  of  the  spectators. 

"Now"  said  Vyr,  as  he  pulled  in  his  natural  draw 
bridge,  u  all  you  are  //>//  prisoner!"  His  manner  was 
that  of  menacing  triumph. 

They  looked  at  one  another  with  curiously  different 
expressions  on  their  faces.  Miss  Wellington's  was 
pallid  with  alarm  ;  Griffin  set  his  teeth  and  scowled  ; 
the  major  lifted  his  brows  and  whistled;  Madeline 
smiled  in  placid  fearlessness. 

"A   faithful   sentinel  sees   ns  now  from  yonder 


130  A  DEMIGOD. 

thicket,"  continued  Yyr.  "My  command  is  to  him 
that  he  shall  fire  when  one  tries  to  go  across  without 
my  permission." 

Still  Madeline  only  smiled. 

Yyr  looked  upon  her  and  upon  the  rest  with  keen 
scrutiny.  Then  his  face  softened,  and  in  a  tone  of 
tender  reproach  he  said,  "Miss  Paul  lias  not  fear. 
She  trusts  the  wild  man  which  has  saved  her  from 
the  klepht.  Cannot  you  have  trust,  too  ?  Do  you 
so  easily  lose  your  faith  in  Hector  Yyr  because  he 
plays  a  little  with  you,  like  a  boy  ?  Is  a  voice  and 
a  look  from  the  eyes  a  greater  thing  to  you  than  a 
deed  ?  Is  it  a  greater  thing  to  you  than  this  blood  ?" 
lifting  his  wounded  arm. 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  distressed  silence.  Then 
the  major  stepped  boldly  forward.  "  General,"  he 
said,  "you  must  not  be  too  hard  on  us.  We  haven't 
said  anything,  have  we  ?  You  told  us  we  were  your 
prisoners,  and  that  you  had  a  sentinel  posted  with 
his  gun  cocked  ready  to  fire  on  us.  How  did  you 
expect  us  to  take  that  from  a  man  who  had  never 
condescended  to  joke  with  us  before,  especially  after 
the  experience  we've  had  ?  Yet  we  never  yipped. 
Excuse  me,  but  you  mustn't  see  too  much  in  a  '  look 
from  the  eyes,'  either." 

With  undisturbed  serenity  Yyr  replied,  "It  is 
right,  what  you  have  said,  Mr.  Paul.  It  was  not 
generosity  when  I  try  to  frighten  you  a  little — it  was 
not  a  just  trial  for  your  faith.  You  shall  forgive 
me  2" 

The  major  seized  his  hand  with  delighted  ardor. 


THE   VYRS   AT   HOME.  131 

"  Say  no  more  about  it,  genera^  say  no  more  about 
it.  We're  all  glad  that  we've  had  the  chance  to  ex 
cuse  something,  even  a  trifling  mistake  like  that." 

"But  it  was  not  all  a  mistake,- my  friends,"  re 
joined  Vyr.  "  It  was  good,  too,  that  you  shall  be  a 
little  frightened,  because  I  show  to  you  how  that  you 
are  safe  from  your  enemies.  They  do  not  know  the 
path  to  my  home,  if  no  friend  shall  be  traitor ;  but 
even  if  they  shall  find  the  path,  they  cannot  come 
over  this  great  gulf  but  one  at  a  time,  and  my  senti 
nel  shrill  shoot  them,  and  he  shall  call  me  and  my 
followers  to  the  defence." 

"That's  a  fact!"  the  major  exclaimed  heartily. 
"It's  a  better  stronghold  than  their  own.  You 
couldn't  have  taken  a  more  effectual  way  than  you 
did  to  impress  us  with  its  strength.  And  you  may 
be  sure  of  one  thing,  general,  you  can't  scare  us 
again,  whatever  you  may  say." 

Vyr  smiled.  "  Miss  Paul  was  not  scare  ?"  he  said, 
looking  at  her  with  pleased  inquiry. 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"  I  thank  you  from  my  whole  heart."  The  look 
and  tone  with  which  he  spoke  thrilled  her. 

"  You  all  shall  be  perfectly  at  your  liberty,"  he 
went  on.  "  You  shall  be  my  guests  so  long  time  as 
you  shall  have  pleasure.  Then,  when  you  shall  com 
mand  me,  I  will  carry  you  again  over  the  little  bridge 
— or  you  shall  creep  over  it,"  laughingly  to  the  major 
and  Griffin  ;  "  or  perhaps  it  is  better  that  my  servants 
shall  bring  down  the  great  bridge  which  I  keep  un 
der  my  house,  and  which  they  place  over  when  the 


132  A   DEMIGOD. 

great  marble  stones  and  tables  and  divans  must  be 
carried  across.  You  shall  walk  over  on  that,  and  I 
will  lead  you  to  Mikro-Maina,  or  even  to  Sparta,  if  it 
is  your  wishes." 

While  this  talk  had  been  going  on,  they  had  as 
cended  a  breakneck,  stony  path,  and  now,  turning  a 
sharp  bend,  they  came  into  full  sight  of  a  white  mar 
ble  tower  similar  to  those  they  had  seen  a  month  be 
fore,  save  that  it  was  much  taller.  It  surmounted  an 
irregular  building  of  large  size,  also  of  marble,  at  one 
side  of  which  was  a  veranda  with  four  Doric  col 
umns.  Several  enormous  gables  projected  from  the 
three  visible  sides  of  the  building,  consisting  chiefly 
of  long  windows  in  slender  casements  of  iron.  On 
the  veranda  were  rustic  chairs,  and  a  hammock  which, 
Yyr  informed  his  guests,  was  one  of  his  favorite  beds. 
Madeline  asked  if  he  always  slept  in  the  open  air. 
He  replied  that  he  did  not ;  he  was  not  a  rock,  but 
rather  a  sort  of  hibernating  animal.  In  the  winter 
he  went  inside  of  his  cave  like  other  bears.  And 
sucked  his  paws  ?  Oh  no  ;  he  made  his  paws  work 
hard  in  the  summer,  so  in  the  winter  they  rested. 
The  major  inquired  if  he  and  his  friends  were  to 
sleep  in  the  open  air,  like  their  host.  Yes,  if  they 
preferred ;  or  they  might  sleep  inside  the  house, 
and  breathe  their  own  breath  over  and  over  a^ain  as 

o 

many  times  as  they  liked.  His  guests  always  did  ex 
actly  as  they  wished.  They  might  eat  and  drink  and 
smoJce  all  the  civilized  poisons  he  could  obtain  for 
them.  They  might  even  turn  the  night  into  day  and 
the  day  into  night,  as  they  had  the  reputation  of  do- 


THE   VYKS   AT   HOME.  133 

• 

ing  at  tlicir  own  homes.  They  could  not  make  noise 
enough  to  disturb  either  his  mother's  rest  or  his  own. 
Rubbing  his  hands  with  anticipation,  the  major  de 
clared  him  the  prince  of  hosts ;  he  and  Griffin  had 
had  nothing  to  smoke  for  a  month  but  the  brigand's 
nasty  nargiles. 

As  they  approached  the  steps  leading  to  the  ve 
randa,  a  handsome  white  face,  crowned  with  abun 
dant  gray  hair,  appeared  at  the  window,  and  the  next 
moment  its  owner,  a  tall,  finely-formed  woman,  clad 
in  a  gray  jacket  embroidered  with  silver,  and  a  black 
petticoat,  stood  curiously  watching  them  from  the 
entrance.  Vyr  ran  up  the  steps,  and  throwing  his 
unwounded  arm  around  her  matronly  figure,  he  im 
printed  a  hearty  kiss  upon  each  cheek.  She  received 
his  embrace  impassively,  as  the  Americans  thought, 
her  only  response  being  to  place  her  hand  on  his 
bandaged  arm  and  look  inquiringly  in  his  face.  lie 
spoke  a  few  short  sentences  in  Greek,  turned,  and 
bade  his  companions  come  up  and  be  introduced  to 
his  mother. 

"  They  are  English  peoples,  m<tnn<(k<i "  (dear  mam 
ma),  he  said,  eagerly;  u/:'//y//Vi,  do  you  not  under 
stand  ?" 

"  Oh,  they  are  English,  are  they  ?"  she  replied,  with 
something  like  interest ;  for  her  eyes,  which  had  sur 
veyed  them  with  stony  apathy,  or  at  most  an  idle  cu 
riosity,  grew  a  few  degrees  brighter.  ""Well,  I  am 
sure  I  am  very  glad  to  see  them/' 

"  I  suppose  we  are  the  same  as  English  to  you, 
ma'am,"  said  the  major,  with  a  low  bow,  "as  we  are 


134  A   DEMIGOD. 

• 

to  your  son  ;  but  we  arc  really  Americans,  from  Bos 
ton,  Massachusetts." 

"  Oh,  than~k  yon,"  replied  the  poor  woman,  with  a 
blank  smile.  "  It  is  a  very  pleasant  evening,  is  it 
not  ?"  Then  suddenly  she  sprang  forward,  crying 
angrily,  "  Americans,  are  you  ?  And  what  have  you 
been  doing  to  my  boy  ?" 

Vyr  went  to  her  and  gently  led  her  to  a  seat. 
"  They  did  not  do  it — some  peoples  have  shot  me  a 
little;  but—" 

"  The  klephts  /"  she  almost  shrieked,  her  pale  face 
distorted  with  terror;  "  0  Thee  mou!" 

"It  is  nothing,  nothing,"  he  answered,  soothing 
ly,  kissing  her  again.  "  Do  not  you  see  that  1  am 
safe  and  well?  Is  not  my  step  firm?  is  not  my 
cheek  red?  is  not  my  voice  loud?  These  peoples 
have  been  very  kind  to  me,  and  you  must  be  very 
kind  to  them  again.  Miss  Paul  was  a  little  doctor 
to  me ;  she  has  bound  my  arm,  and  she  has  watered 
it  when  we  have  come  to  the  little  brooks.  It  will 
soon  be  strong  again,  like  to  the  other." 

" But  we  were  the  cause"  exclaimed  Madeline, 
pressing  forward  in  her  eagerness.  "  Oh,  madam, 
when  you  know  how  much  we  owe  to  your  son — 
how  brave,  how  heroic  he  has  been— 

"Yes,"  interrupted  her  father,  impetuously  step 
ping  before  her;  "  we  have  a  great  story  to  tell  you, 
Mrs.  Vyr — a  most  astonishing  story  of  your  son's — 

"  You  must  not  tell  it  now,"  interposed  Vyr,  au 
thoritatively ;  "you  must  wait  until  my  mother  is 
more  calmer.  She  is  not  well. — You  must  not  tell 


THE   VYRS   AT   HOME.  135 

it  to  her  at  any  time. — I  will  tell  it  to  you  to-mor 
row,  manndkd.  Xow  we  shall  go  in,  and  we  shall 
show  to  our  guests  how  that  we  live  in  these  wild 
mountains." 

Madame  Vyr  tried  to  speak,  but  her  son  prevented 
her  with  another  kiss  and  a  playful  remark,  and  tak 
ing  her  hand,  he  led  her  unresistingly  to  the  open 
door.  As  they  were  entering  he  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
to  the  major,  "  I  will  explain  it  all  to  you  when  we 
shall  be  alone  together." 

With  a  natural  dignity  and  grace  that  the  most 
hospitable  nobleman  might  have  envied,. he  conducted 
his  guests  through  the  different  apartments  of  his 
unique  dwelling.  These  were  in  strange  contrast  to 
their  wild  environments;  they  might  have  been  the 
home  of  a  wealthy  gentleman  of  eccentric  tastes  in 
the  heart  of  a  populous  city.  The  walls  and  ceilings 
were  panelled  and  painted  in  Pompeian  style  with 
old  gold  and  dead  colors  and  with  elaborate  friezes. 
Heavy  carved  chairs,  couches,  and  tables  of  Western 
manufacture,  and  Oriental  rugs  and  divans,  statues, 
and  other  ornaments  of  bronze  or  marble,  paintings, 
engravings,  chandeliers  and  candelabra,  articles  of 
vertu  from  every  clime  and  of  every  age,  books  and 
musical  instruments,  scattered  about  without  the 
slightest  regard  to  general  effect,  all  betokened  a 
luxuriant  if  uneducated  taste.  It  must  be  under 
stood  that  the  craze  for  furnishings  and  decorations 
of  this  sort  had  not  then  spread  over  the  civilized 
world,  as  it  has  since ;  so  the  four  Americans  be 
held  in  silent  amazement  the  discordant  amalgama- 


130  A    DEMIGOD. 

tion  of  art,  ancient  and  modern,  barbaric  and  Euro 
pean. 

Their  host  smiled  again  and  again  at  their  looks 
of  wonder  and  doubtful  admiration  as  they  proceeded 
from  room  to  room.  At  length  he  said, 

"  Your  tongues  are  paralyze,  but  your  faces  speak 
enough.  You  do  not  wonder  only,  but  you  are  crit 
ics.  You  say  you  do  not  love  the  tout  ensemble — it 
is  very  bad — it  is  not  harmony — it  is  vinegar  upon 
nitre — it  is  not  order,  it  is  chaos.  Now,  my  friends, 
listen  to  me.  I  do  not  have  care  for  the  tout  ensem 
ble '.,  it  will  be  good  for  one  only  look ;  but  I  and  my 
mother,  we  live  here  all  the  time;  we  have  more 
than  one  only  look.  We  enjoy  each  thing  here  by 
itself,  like  as  we  enjoy  each  book  and  magazine  in 
our  library,  without  its  relations  and  its  harmonies 
with  the  other  books.  The  English  gentleman  and 
the  American  gentleman  furnishes  and  adorns  his 
house  that  he  shall  please  his  friends  and  his  visitors. 
If  he  shall  make  mistakes,  it  is  ignorance,  and  he 
feels  the  shame.  My  father,  he  furnished  and  adorn 
ed  this  house  that  he  may  please  himself,  and  my 
mother  she  was  please,  too,  because  he  was  please. 
I  have  done  the  same  like  as  my  father  did.  Ho 
lived  in  the  mountains  ;  he  did  not  expect  guests — it 
was  accident  that  he  received  them,  like  as  it  is  acci 
dent  now  that  we  receive  you  ;  it  was  not  that  he 
shall  please  others,  but  that  he  shall  satisfy  himself 
and  my  mother.  To  him  beauty  was  beauty ;  it  was 
no  difference  between  old  and  new  things ;  his  ances 
tors  were  of  many  nations ;  he  was  not  Greek,  not 


THE    VYRS   AT   HOME.  137 

Roman,  not  English,  not  Turk  ;  to  him  there  was  not 
Europe,  not  Asia,  not  America,  not  Africa.  My  moth 
er  she  loves  everything's  which  my  father  loved,  and 
so  I  do.  For  us  all  beautiful  things  are  harmony, 
both  those  wild  things  which  no  man  sees  except  our 
selves  and  the  other  peoples  of  these  mountains,  and 
also  the  exquisite  things  which  the  artist  makes  in 
Paris." 

Madeline  took  advantage  of  the  pause  which  now 
occurred  to  say,  "Indeed,  Mr.  Vyr,  you  have  misin 
terpreted  our  wondering  looks  altogether.  It  is  such 
a  delightful  surprise  to  tind  here  so  many  beautiful 
things  which  we  usually  see  only  where  men  are 
thickly  congregated  together,  and  where  they  are 
impelled  by  ambition — love  of  approbation — to  sur 
round  themselves  with  costly  adornments/' 

"  That  they  shall  make  other  men  to  envy  them 
and  to  hate  them,  is  it  f  asked  Vyr,  smiling. 

"Oh  no,  not  always,  I  hope,  it  is  not  impossible 
that  they  may  like  to  confer  pleasure  upon  their 
friends  and  visitors.  You,  it  seems,  are  impelled  by 
love  of  beauty,  pure  and  simple." 

"Yes,  Miss  Paul;  I  love  all  beauty  with  a  great 
passion.  My  eyes  are  almost  till  with  tears  when  I 
look  upon  the  sweet  anemones  on  the  sides  of  the 
hills,  and  my  heart  it  thrills  when  I  behold  the  beau 
tiful  face  or  the  beautiful  form  of  a  man,  a  woman, 
or  a  child.  It  is  a  passion  which  God  has  create,  like 
as  he  has  create  the  sharp  desire  for  food  and  for  wa 
ter.  The  undevelop  man  only  is  dead  to  beauty,  like 
as  the  dyspeptic  man  has  not  the  hunger.  I  enjoy 


138  A  DEMIGOD. 

to  show  to  you  these  things  which  I  love  ;  but  not  to 
please  you  they  were  brought  here ;  they  would  be 
here  if  no  peoples  in  the  world  shall  see  them  except 
my  mother  and  myself." 

He  ushered  them  into  a  bedroom  on  the  second 
floor,  extending  outward  from  the  main  building  like 
a  huge  bay-window.  Three  sides  were  almost  entire 
ly  of  glass  panels,  which  could  be  pushed  down  in 
grooves  out  of  sight,  leaving  a  wide,  open  balcony. 
Mosquito  nettings  then  took  the  place  of  the  glazing. 

"  You  asked  me  if  I  always  sleep  in  the  open  air," 
said  Yyr.  "  I  tolled  you,  when  it  is  winter  I  come 
in  my  cave  like  to  the  other  bears.  This  is  my  cave. 
I  shut  it  up  close,  except  one  little  window,  and  the 
bright  sun  shines  in  all  around  me  and  makes  me  to 
be  warm.  In  the  summer,  when  it  is  too  much  flies 
and  gnats  to  sleep  in  the  hammock  at  the  veranda,  I 
sleep  out-of-door  here." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Major  Paul,  "you  make  it  a  point 
never  to  breathe  anything  but  the  purest  of  air,  day 
or  night,  summer  or  winter." 

"  If  I  can  breathe  pure  air,  is  it  not  foolishness  to 
breathe  that  what  is  not  pure  ?"  Yyr  returned,  as  if 
what  he  asked  were  the  most  obvious  thing  in  the 
world.  "  You  and  your  friends  may  sleep  in  rooms 
the  same  like  this,  if  it  is  your  wishes ;  but  you  can 
shut  them  up  close,  too,  if  it  is  your  wishes." 

Adjoining  the  bedroom  was  a  commodious  bath 
room,  into  which  water  was  conducted  by  a  pipe 
from  a  mountain  spring. 

"  I  think  you  should  not  enjoy  to  plunge  into  my 


THE   VYKS   AT  HOME.  139 

frigidariwm  in  winter,  when  you  must  break  tlie 
ice,"  said  Yyr. 

"Ugh!"  shuddered  Aunt  Eliza  and  Madeline  to 
gether. 

"I  assure  you,"  said  Griffin, "  we  should  be  able  to 
deny  ourselves  the  luxury  without  repining." 

"  It  is  luxury,"  rejoined  Yyr.  "  The  water  is  so 
cold  as  I  love  only  when  it  is  cover  over  with  the 
ice.  Then  it  makes  me  to  feel  red  and  warm  when 
I  come  out,  and  I  am  light  in  my  feet  and  in  my 
heart.  In  the  summer  it  is  not  so  luxury. 

"!N"ow  we  shall  go  up  in  the  tower,  and  you  shall 
see  the  beautiful  things  of  nature,  which  belong  to 
you,  like  as  they  belong  to  me  and  my  mother.  I 
wish  that  you  shall  see  them  sleeping  in  the  moon 
light  ;  then  to-morrow  you  shall  see  them  awake  in 
the  sunlight." 

Madame  Yyr  had  scarcely  spoken  since  they  left 
the  veranda.  Nevertheless  she  had  shown  unmis 
takable  signs  of  satisfaction  at  the  frequent  exclama 
tions  of  pleasure  and  surprise  in  which  the  Ameri 
cans  indulged.  She  declined  to  climb  the  winding 
stairs  with  them,  saying  abruptly  that  she  must  go 
down  and  order  supper. 

"My  mother  thinks  you  are  hungry  for  that  what 
is  more  nutriment  than  the  mountains  and  the  val 
leys,"  said  her  son,  as  they  began  the  ascent. 

The  last  glimmer  of  the  short  Grecian  twilight 
had  disappeared,  but  the  full  moon  shining  into  the 
narrow  windows  of  the  tower  sufficiently  lighted 
their  way.  The  darkness  above  and  below,  the  hoi- 


140  A  DEMIGOD. 

low  reverberation  of  tlieir  voices  in  the  cylinder  of  the 
tower,  the  strange  events  that  had  preceded,  the  con 
sciousness  of  their  isolation  from  their  fellow-men, 
in  the  midst  of  a  mountainous  wilderness,  and  more 
than  all  else,  the  character  of  their  mysterious  guide, 
filled  Madeline  with  a  sense  of  romantic  awe  that  al 
most  made  her  shudder.  "What  if  he  were  a  Mer 
cury,"  she  thought,  "  sent  to  transport  us  to  Olym 
pus!" 

On  reaching  the  summit  of  the  tower  they  beheld 
another  of  the  glorious  views  seen  only  among  the 
Morean  mountains.  Snowy  peaks  arose  against  the 
star-dotted  sky,  like  giant  billows  crested  with  gleam 
ing  silver,  while  the  black  troughs  of  the  valleys  sank 
into  immeasurable  depths  between.  Here  and  there 
naked  slopes  reflecting  the  full  moonlight  seemed 
like  vast  spirit-forms  rising  from  amid  the  waves. 
Far  beyond  lay  the  smooth,  dark  pavement  of  the 
JEgean. 

After  gazing  a  while  in  silence,  Major  Paul  began 
pointing  out  the  peaks  and  islands  whose  names  he 
had  learned,  and  asked  the  names  of  others. 

"  Oh,  papa !"  protested  Madeline,  "  let  us  not  mind 
their  names.  They  seem  to  dwindle  both  in  magni 
tude  and  number  when  we  can  name  and  count  them." 

"I  think  the  same  like  you,  Miss  Paul,"  said  Yyr. 
-'It  is  like  when  we  know  the  names  and  the  num 
ber  of  the  stars  in  the  heaven — they  are  no  more  a 
great  multitude,  but  they  are  a  catalogue." 

"  I  like  to  feel,"  Madeline  rejoined,  "  when  I  look 
upon  a  scene  like  this,  as  if  I  had  alighted  upon  some 


THE  VYRS  AT  HOME.  141 

unknown  planet.  I  can  imagine  myself  wondering 
where  in  the  wide  universe  I  am,  what  sort  of  inhab 
itants  I  am  about  to  meet,  and  what  strange  things 
lie  beyond  the  horizon." 

"  I  can  give  you  the  desired  information,"  put  in 
Robert  Griffin,  lapsing  into  his  old  habit  for  almost 
the  first  time  since  the  rescue.  "  You  arc  upon  the 
earth,  which  is  round  like  an  apple  or  an  orange,  ex 
cept  that  it  is  flattened  a  little  at  the  poles.  Out  in 
that  direction  lies  a  little  village  known  among  tho 
natives  as  Boston,  Massachusetts." 

Hector  Vyr  looked  at  the  speaker  as  if  wondering 
whether  he  were  a  lunatic  or  a  fool.  "  Why-fore  do 
you  say  that  ?"  he  asked,  gravely.  "  Do  you  think 
she  does  not  know  f ' 

"  Don't  mind  him,  Mr.  Vyr,"  answered  Madeline, 
feeling  as  never  before  the  unspeakable  smallness  of 
the  conventional  jest.  "lie  is  only  trying  to  be  jo 
cose." 

Yyr  nodded  his  head,  smiled  pityingly,  and  said, 
"  It  is  sometimes  my  own  amusement,  when  I  am 
alone,  to  lie  here  and  let  my  soul  to  fly  up  into  tlio 
sky.  I  can  sec  the  little  earth  below  me,  and  myself 
a  speck  upon  it,  occupied  with  things  which  are 
smaller  than  myself.  Then  I  say,  'AVhat  is  it  mat 
ter  if  I  am  greater  or  smaller  than  the  other  men, 
because  we  are  all  so  little?  It  is  like  to  the  little 
worm  which  is  longer  than  other  worms  at  the 
breadth  of  a  hair,  or  perhaps  he  is  shorter.'  I  am 
glad,  Miss  Paul,  because  your  imagination  loves  to 
play, too !" 


143  A  DEMIGOD. 

"  Oil  yes,  Mr.  Vyr,  you  will  find  ns  fully  as  poetic 
as  yourself,"  said  Aunt  Eliza,  who  had  conceived  a 
sudden  small  pique,  for  some  reason  or  other  ;  wheth 
er  because  so  little  of  the  talk  had  been  thus  far  ad 
dressed  to  her,  or  because  she  thought  her  nephew 
had  been  somewhat  ungraciously  suppressed,  I  can 
not  tell.  "  Like  all  other  Orientals,  I  suppose  you 
thought  we  Americans  cared  for  nothing  but  dollars 
and  jokes." 

Although  she  said  this  laughingly,  she  was  con 
scious  of  greater  l>rusquerie  than  she  had  intended, 
and  she  shrank  in  confusion  from  the  mild,  penetrat 
ing  look  with  which,  even  in  the  obscure  light,  she 
saw  Yyr  was  studying  her.  They  had  all,  in  turn, 
shrunk  from  that  look,  innocent  and  mild  as  it  was. 

"  Miss  Wellington,"  he  replied,  "  I  have  heard  that 
your  peoples  have  not  imagination ;  but  I  have  read 
much  of  your  books  of  poetry,  and  I  find  in  them 
sometimes  very  great  imagination.  They  hear  voices 
to  speak  in  the  winds  and  in  the  waves,  and  they  tell 
the  words  which  those  voices  say  to  them,  which  is 
the  same  like  the  old  divinities  of  the  Greeks.  They 
feel  the  souls  that  live  in  the  mountains  and  in  the 
rivers — the  mountain  frowns  angrily,  the  river  thinks 
silently  upon  his  own  deep  secrets,  and  the  brook 
laughs  with  his  shallow  joy.  But  I  find,  too,  much 
that  what  seems  to  me  to  be  disease,  like  the  fe 
ver,  or  like  peoples  with  nerves  and  brains  but  no 
belly." 

This  made  the  Americans  laugh.  It  was  an  op 
portunity  which  Griffin  could  not  forego.  Placing 


JEALOUSY.  143 

liis  hands  upon  the  part  last  mentioned,  ho  said,  with 
a  comical  grimace, 

"  We  are  not  that  kind  of  people,  Mr.Yyr." 

The  host  was  pleased  with  this  sally. 

"  Forgive,"  he  said  ;  "  I  am  starving  yon.  We 
shall  go  down  now." 


XL 

JEALOUSY. 

THE  dining-room  into  which  they  were  now  in 
troduced  was  one  of  the  most  ornate  apartments  of 
the  house.  An  Ionic  door-way  opened  into  it;  the 
floor  was  inlaid  with  Doric  marble  and  other  stones 
of  different  colors,  forming  one  huge  figure  of  kalei 
doscopic  symmetry  within  a  wide  Greek  border ;  a 
dado  and  a  frieze  with  human  and  animal  figures  in 
bass-relief  harmonized  admirably  with  the  floor  and 
with  the  panel-work  of  the  walls  and  ceiling;  in  the 
corners  were  volutes  relieved  by  gilding;  here  and 
there  in  niches  were  statuettes  of  marble  and  bronze  ; 
an  elaborate  bronze  chandelier,  with  lamps  of  ancient 
pattern,  hung  directly  over  the  centre  of  the  dining- 
table,  on  which  was  spread  an  array  of  edibles  in 
whimsical  contrast  with  the  vessels  containing  them. 
Hulled  eggs  in  cups  of  delicate  silver  filigree,  coarse 
but  good  bread  on  trays  of  rare  porcelain,  coffee  of 
burnt  barley  in  a  richly  embossed  silver  urn,  sweet, 
fresh  milk,  and  an  abundance  of  fruit  in  vessels  of 
similar  pattern,  constituted  the  meal. 
10 


144  A  DEMIGOD, 

"Sit,  my  friends,"  said  the  host,  with  the  voice 
and  gesture  of  a  gracious  king,  "and  give  honor  to 
me  and  to  my  mother  by  breaking  our  bread.  You 
will  not  be  feast  like  as  you  are  feast  at  your  own 
homes;  but  you  have  lived  a  month  in  the  mount 
ains,  and  you  will  enjoy  our  simple  eating,  perhaps, 
more  better  than  you  have  enjoyed  the  richer  feast 
before." 

Protesting  that  there  could  be  nothing  better,  Ma 
jor  Paul  set  his  companions  the  example  by  accept 
ing  the  invitation  with  an  alacrity  more  creditable  to 
his  appetite  than  to  his  courtliness. 

Hector  Yyr  drank  nothing,  but  ate  heartily,  with 
vigorous,  animal  relish,  of  the  coarse  bread  and  of 
the  fruits.  Griffin  inquired,  with  an  apology  for  his 
inquisitiveness,  but  with  a  sidelong  glance  at  Made 
line,  whether  Yyr's  system  of  dieting  excluded  all 
the  delicacies  of  art. 

"I  do  not  think  that  I  use  a  'system  of  dieting,' " 
was  the  reply.  "  I  do  not  think  much  of  that  what 
I  eat.  I  take  that  what  I  like.  I  do  not  like  meat 
much.  I  like  the  oranges  and  the  figs  and  the  ap 
ples  best  of  all  the  other.  What  is  'delicacies  of 
art?'  Is  it  spices  and  confections?  Those  things 
are  not  to  me  delicacies.  I  do  not  like  those,  like 
as  a  horse  does  not  like  them.  I  think  I  am  good 
deal  like  to  a  horse,"  he  added,  with  his  inimitable 
wholesome  smile. 

"Do  you —  '  began  Aunt  Eliza.  Then,  abashed 
at  her  thoughtless  presumption,  she  stopped  abruptly, 
and  her  eyes  fell. 


JEALOUSY.  145 

"  "Wliy-forc  do  you  not  go  on  ?"  asked  Yyr,  gra 
ciously.  "  I  like  that  you  shall  ask  me  questions  of 
myself.  I  have  told  some  things  to  you,  and  it  is 
right  they  make  you  inquisitive  of  more." 

"Thank  you.  I  was  going  to  ask  if  you  never 
drank  at  your  meals,"  she  said. 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  never  think  if  I  do  or  if  I  do 
not.  I  drink  always  when  I  feel  the  thirst.  I  do 
not  think  that  I  am  thirst  when  I  am  eating.  You 
think  I  am  like  to  a  feeble  old  woman  which  is  dys 
peptic  ?" — with  another  smile — "  that  I  shall  always 
think  of  that  what  I  eat  and  drink?" 

"  We  did  not  know,"  returned  Aunt  Eliza.  "  You 
said  something  about  being  a  '  health-monomaniac,' 
and  we  supposed  that — " 

"  Ah  yes,  Miss  Wellington.  I  said  that  to  you. 
But  I  think  my  health  shall  be  better  if  I  eat  that 
what  I  like.  I  think  my  belly—  Why-fore  do  you 
laugh,  Mr.  Griffin?  Have  I  said  wrong,  manndka?" 

'•  You  should  say  stomach,  Hector,  not  belly,"  an 
swered  Madame  Yyr. 

"  I  shall  learn  to  speak  English  in  a  few  days  more, 
if  you  will  talk  to  me.  Those  three  Englishmen 
which  I  saved  from  the  klephts  did  not  talk  much. 
They  said  to  me  that  they  were  afraid  at  me.  I  have 
tried  that  you  shall  not  be  afraid.  Have  I  not  suc 
ceed  ?  I  do  not  scare  you,  do  I  ?" 

"No,  indeed,  Mr.  Yyr,"  answered  Madeline,  to 
whom  his  question  was  more  directly  addressed.  "I 
assure  you  that  your  kind,  genial  treatment  has 
placed  us  all  entirely  at  our  ease." 


146  A  DEMIGOD. 

"  I  am  very  glad  at  what  yon  say.  I  did  not  wish 
that  those  other  should  be  afraid  ;  but  I  have  learned 
a  little  lesson.  I  will  say  now  what  I  wished  to  say  : 
I  think  that  my  stomach  knows  better  what  is  right 
that  I  shall  eat  than  my  head  knows  it." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  very  well  for  a  perfectly  healthy 
stomach,  as  yours  must  be,"  said  the  major ;  "  but  it 
would  be  a  very  unsafe  rule  for  people  in  general  to 
follow.  And  I  suppose  your  guide  determines  the 
quantity  as  well  as  the  quality  of  what  you  shall  eat." 

"  I  eat  so  long  as  I  have  hunger ;  then  I  stop.  I 
enjoy  great  pleasure  while  I  have  hunger,  and  when 
I  have  not,  then  I  do  not  like.  You  think  I  am  an 
animal  ?  Yes ;  if  I  am  a  poet  on  my  tower  and  in 
the  fields  and  on  the  mountains,  I  am  a  great  animal 
at  my  table." 

After  supper,  Vyr  invited  the  two  gentlemen  to 
return  to  the  veranda,  promising  them  what  he  sup 
posed  would  be  a  great  treat  to  them.  When  they 
were  comfortably  seated  in  the  brilliant  moonlight, 
a  servant  appeared  with  a  little  vase  containing  half 
a  dozen  cigars.  "Now,"  said  the  entertainer,  "you 
shall  be  happy,  like  as  you  would  be  if  you  are  at 
Boston.  You  may  sit  here  and  poison  yourselves, 
and  I  will  look  upon  the  sacrifice." 

"  Ah,"  sighed  the  major,  with  unutterable  satisfac 
tion,  as  he  took  one  of  the  little  brown  rolls ;  "  this 
alone  was  wanting  to  complete  our  bliss." 

"  I  have  been  longing  for  Boston,  or  at  least  Ath 
ens,"  chimed  in  Griffin,  "  with  all  due  respect  and 
gratitude  for  your  princely  hospitality,  Mr.  Vyr; 


JEALOUSY.  147 

but  now  I  am  perfectly  content.  I  don't  care  for 
Boston,  or  Athens,  or  the  whole  civilized  world." 

"You  are  all  alike  the  same,"  replied  Vyr,  survey 
ing  them  with  curiosity.  "The  three  Englishmen 
said  almost  those  words  when  my  servant  returned 
which  I  sent  to  buy  for  them  those  cigars." 

"  But  arc  you  not  going  to  join  us  ?"  the  major 
asked. 

"No,  Mr.  Paul.  For  what  reason  shall  I  smoke 
tobacco?  Does  it  give  satisfaction  to  hunger  or  to 
thirst  ?  does  it  give  health  to  the  body  or  to  the  in 
tellects  ?" 

"I  thought  you  didn't  trouble  yourself  to  think 
whether  a  thing  is  good  for  the  health  or  not,"  said 
Griffin,  rolling  out  with  intense  enjoyment  a  volume 
of  smoke,  milky  white  in  the  moonlight. 

"/  may  not  trouble,  but  my  stomach  troubles,"  re 
plied  Vyr,  laughing. 

"Smoking  would  give  you  a  great  pleasure  that 
you  know  nothing  of,"  said  the  major. 

"My  life  is  already  full  with  pleasures.  I  have 
no  necessity  for  another,  that  I  shall  pay  for  it  with 
a  part  of  myself." 

"  I  cannot  see  how  it  could  possibly  harm  so  strong 
a  man  as  you  are,"  said  Griffin. 

"Not  harm?  Yt'.-s  a  little.  The  general  which 
lias  an  army  of  thousand  hundred  soldiers  must  not 
sacrifice  one  soldier  without  the  necessity.  A  miser 
which  has  thousand  hundreds  of  gold  and  silver  does 
not  throw  away  one  little  drachma  if  he  can  prevent. 
Hector  Vyr  is  a  miser.  He  has  swore  that  he  shall 


148  A   DEMIGOD. 

not  throw  away  one  little  atom  from  his  manhood  of 
his  body  or  his  mind.  If  my  father  chinked  whiskey, 
or  smoked  tobacco,  or  liurted  himself  in  any  little 
thing,  he  would  hurt  me  too.  When  your  English 
and  American  strong  men  shall  fight  for  the  prize, 
they  do  not  drink  whiskey,  they  do  not  lie  lazy  in 
their  bed,  they  do  not  smoke  tobacco.  They  '  train] 
as  you  say  it.  I  train  always,  all  my  life.  When 
the  great  artist  shall  make  a  statue  from  marble,  you 
say  it  will  not  harm  much  if  he  shall  make  one  little 
wrong  cut  with  the  chisel.  Ah,  it  shall  hurt.  I  am 
an  artist — my  statue  is  Hector  "Vyr." 

"You  have  indeed  reduced  self-culture  to  a  fine 
art,"  remarked  Griffin. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Griffin.  Your  father  shall  give  you  a 
noble  horse.  You  are  very  full  of  thanks,  and  you 
take  very  great  care.  You  do  not  wish  that  your 
gift  shall  be  liurted  in  any  little  thing.  God  he  gave 
to  me  this  body.  I  am  very  full  of  thanks,  because 
I  think  it  is  a  very  precious  gift ;  and  I  cultivate  it 
and  I  develop  it  to  the  best  perfection  which  I  can. 
God  he  also  gave  me  a  mind  and  a  heart.  I  receive 
those  with  very  much  greater  thanks,  and  I  am  very 
much  more  careful." 

"  Then,"  said  Griffin,  "  in  spite  of  what  you  have 
said,  I  can't  understand  why  your  thoughts  are  not 
always  on  what  is  good  and  what  is  not  good  for  you, 
and  I  should  think  you  would  defeat  your  own  ob 
ject  by  such  excessive  care.  We  think  the  very  way 
to  be  ailing  is  to  be  always  on  our  guard  against  ail 
ments." 


JEALOUSY.  149 

Vyr  laughed  in  his  characteristic  way.  "  Yon 
cannot  understand  how  that  it  is  my  habit.  I  do  not 
think  about  my  habit.  You  do  not  always  think,  'I 
must  not  cut  myself  with  a  knife,  I  must  not  shoot 
myself  with  a  gun,  I  must  not  drink  the  poisonous 
cup,  I  must  not  sleep  out-of-door  in  the  snow.'  You 
avoid  all  those  things  without  think ;  the  same  like 
that  I  avoid  all  the  little  things  that  hurt  without 
much  think.  I  suppose  it  is  the  instinct  in  me,  like 
as  it  is  in  the  wild  animal  —  the  chamois,  docs  he 
smoke  tobacco  or  drink  whiskey  ?" 

"  Well,"  rejoined  Griffin,  throwing  himself  back 
luxuriously  in  his  chair,  "  you  are,  at  least,  very 
kind  and  hospitable  to  give  us  cigars  to  poison  our 
selves  with." 

"  I  am  your  host,  not  your  master,"  retorted  Vyr, 
without  offence,  but  with  an  unconscious  dignity 
that  brought  his  two  auditors  up  erect,  and  made 
them  for  the  moment  forget  their  pleasurable  indul 
gence.  "  You  are  my  guests,  not  my  children.  You 
ask  me  for  cigars;  that  is  your  foolishness.  I  give 
them  to  you ;  that  is  my  hospitality.  I  say  to  you, 
'  They  arc  not  good,  they  will  poison  you ;'  that  is 
my  friendship.  You  smoke  them ;  that  is  your  lib 
erty.  You  are  not  slaves,  except  of  yourselves.  I 
can  set  you  free  from  the  klephts,  but  you  must  set 
yourselves  free  from  yourselves." 

When  they  had  finished  and  thrown  away  their 
cigars,  he  said,  "  My  friends,  it  is  very  late  for  me, 
and  I  am  full  of  sleep.  I  shall  go  to  my  bed  now, 
when  I  have  said  to  the  womans  Kale  nykta" 


150  A   DEMIGOD. 

The  apartments  assigned  to  the  guests  consisted  of 
a  capacious  drawing-room  opening  into  two  sleeping- 
rooms  that  jutted  out  from  the  main  building  like  the 
one  they  had  already  seen.  All  were  luxuriously 
fitted  up  in  European  style  ;  for  which,  the  host  in 
formed  them,  they  were  indebted  to  the  wishes  of 
his  mother. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "you  can  think  that  you  are  in 
Boston ;  and  you  can  dance  till  the  sun  shall  shine 
again,  if  it  is  your  wishes." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Madeline  ;  "  but  we  don't  dance 
all  the  time,  even  in  Boston.  For  myself,  I  am  tired 
enough  to  go  to  bed  at  once." 

"  Tired !"  exclaimed  Vyr.  "  I  did  not  think  that 
you  can  be  tired,  with  that  cheek  like  the  rose  and 
that  bright  eye." 

"  Indeed  I  am,  and  very  often.  You  must  remem 
ber  we  are  not  children  of  nature,  like  yourself.  I 
suppose  you  haven't  the  least  idea  what  the  word 
'tired'  means." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  know  perfectly.  I  do  not  re 
member  that  I  was  ever  tired.  Is  it  a  pain  ?  an  ache, 
like  that  I  feel  in  this  arm  ?" 

"  Oh,"  cried  Madeline,  "  forgive  me  for  my  neg 
lect.  You  have  made  so  little  of  your  wound,  and 
I  have  been  so  dazed  with  the  strangeness  of  every 
thing,  that,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  almost  forgot  it.  Will 
you  not  have  it  dressed  again  before  you  retire  ?" 

"  I  give  you  thanks,  Miss  Paul.  I  have  a  faithful 
servant  which  is  a  very  good  doctor  of  wounds,  and 
he  will  do  for  me  what  it  is  necessary.  Then  I  shall 


JEALOUSY.  151 

Is  it '  tired '  to  bo  full  of  sleep  ?  If  it  is  that, 
1  love  to  be  tired — it  is  a  sense  full  of  delightness. 
K<ilc  mjlda,  my  friends.  I  wish  that  your  sleep 
shall  be  like  the  baby  on  the  bosom  of  his  mother." 

His  good  wishes  were  heartily  returned,  and  he 
withdrew. 

The  moment  the  door  closed,  Madeline  rushed  into 
her  father's  arms. 

"  Thank  God,  my  child !"  he  cried,  gathering  her 
to  his  broad  breast.  "Yes,  thank  God  for  answering 
your  prayer  I'1 

"And  our  brave,  noble,  godlike  deliverer!"  she 
murmured,  as  her  long- restrained  tears  of  joy  and 
gratitude  poured  forth. 

Griffin  uttered  no  word,  but  he  walked  to  the  win 
dow  and  scowled  fiercely  at  the  moon. 

"But  what  a  singular — what  a  very  extraordinary 
person  Mr.  Vyr  is !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Eliza,  after  the 
mutual  congratulations  and  rejoicings  had  somewhat 
abated. 

"  Extraordinary  ?  well,  I  should  say  so,"  answered 
the  major.  "  Constellations  of  the  zodiac  !  lie  is  a 
prodigy — a  miracle.  I  never  even  imagined  such  a 
character.  It  is  a  combination  of  the  freshness  of 
a  child,  the  strength  of  a  giant,  and  the  wisdom  of  a 
sage." 

"  What  strange  eyes  he  has,"  said  Madeline,  mus 
ingly ;  ''and  what  shining,  satiny  skin — for  all  the 
world  like  a  huge,  strapping  baby." 


J  A  DEMIGOD. 

"I've  seen  that  matched  more  than  once,"  said 
Griffin.  "You  never  saw  John  Hcenan  'peel;'  I 
have.  His  skin  was  as  rosy  and  glossy  as  your  demi 
god's." 

"No,"  replied  Madeline;  "I've  not  been  in  the 
habit  of  frequenting  the  prize-ring." 

"  Well,  you  needn't  annihilate  me  with  your  scorn. 
I've  never  been  there  but  twice  in  my  life,  and  that 
was  when  I  was  a  sophomore.  I  didn't  go  alone, 
either,  I  want  you  to  understand  ;  some  of  the  best 
fellows  in  collee  went  with  me." 


"  Yes,  best  —  such  men  as  Harry  Le  Court,  for  in 
stance,  and  Tom  Richmond.  You  wouldn't  curl  your 
pretty  lip  at  them,  I  fancy.  Oh,  well,  you  may  sniff 
and  sneer  as  much  as  you  please;  I've  seen  your 
poetic  soul  in  raptures  over  the  statue  of  some  old 
Greek  pugilist.  How  much  better  was  he  than  John 
Heenan,  may  I  ask?  Wasn't  the  pancration,  a  prize- 
ring,  my  sweet  jewel  of  consistency?" 

"  If  you've  been  through  college,  and  see  no  differ 
ence  between  a  high-born  athlete  winning  his  olive-- 
crown  in  the  presence  of  the  noblest  citizens  of 
ancient  Greece,  in  the  presence  of  applauding  states 
men,  artists,  poets,  philosophers,  and  a  brutal  bully 
pounding  another  brutal  bully  for  a  thousand  dol 
lars,  in  the  midst  of  a  drunken  mob  of  gamblers  and 
thieves  ready  to  scamper  at  the  first  sight  of  a  po 
liceman's  billy  —  " 

"  Oh,  for  dear  pity's  sake,"  burst  in  Aunt  Eliza,  in 
her  shrillest  tones,  "don't  you  two  get  to  quarrelling." 


JEALOUSY.  153 

"I  hadn't  t]ic  least  idea  of  quarrelling,  aunty,"  pro 
tested  Madeline.  "I  was  full  of  only  joy  and  won 
der  and  gratitude  till  Robert  compared  him  to  a  vul 
gar  prize-fighter;  the  very  idea  was- so  revolting,  so 
utterly  intolerable,  that  I  couldn't  help  answering 
him  as  he  deserved." 

"  I  should  never  think  of  comparing  Mr.  Vyr  to 
a  prize-lighter,"  said  Aunt  Eliza.  "  lie  reminds  me 
more  of  one  of  the  sons  of  God  the  Bible  tells  of — " 

"  That  loved  the  daughters  of  men."  The  humor 
ous  glance  with  which  her  father  finished  Miss  Well 
ington's  sentence,  was  entirely  lost  upon  Madeline, 
who  was  busy  with  her  hair  at  the  mirror. 

Griffin  sprang  up  from  the  divan  where  he  had 
been  lying,  in  a  rage  which  he  tried  to  conceal  under 
a  show  of  petty  impatience.  "1  didn't  compare  him 
to  a  prize-lighter,"  he  snarled.  "  I  only  said  I  leenan 
had  as  good  a  skin  as  he  had.  I  should  think  the 
rest  of  you  had  glorified  him  enough  to  make  up  for 
that.  I'll  grant  yon  he's  a  wonderful  savage,  and  has 
done  us  a  devilish  good  turn  ;  but  for  Heaven's  sake  " 
— choking  under  his  increasing  passion — "  one  would 
think  he  had  said  enough  himself  to  cover  all  the 
points.  What  between  his  self-deification  and  your 
abject  homage,  I  must  confess  I'm  beginning  to  be — 
a  trifle  disgusted — and  should  be" — with  an  oatli — 
'"  if  he  were  an  archangel,  which  you  all  seem  to  think 
him — especially  Madeline." 

"  When  you  get  over  your  senseless  fury,"  returned 
Madeline,  turning  almost  as  white  as  he,  "  you'll  see 
how  wicked  and  ungrateful  you  have  been.  Go,  Rob- 


154  A   DEMIGOD. 

crt ;  lay  the  head  which  the  '  wonderful  savage'  has 
saved  on  the  savage's  pillow.  Good-night.  Good 
night,  papa.  Come,  Aunt  Eliza." 

With  this  she  sailed  into  her  room  and  closed  the 
door. 

"  "Well,"  shrilled  Aunt  Eliza,  "  this  is  a  fine  time 
for  such  a  scene,  isn't  it  ?  Who  would  suppose  it 
was  only  a  few  hours  since  we  were  all  trembling  for 
our  lives  ?  And  here  we  are  as  safe  as  if  we  were  in 
Boston." 

"  Good-night,"  said  Griffin. 

"  Oh,  good-night.  I  sincerely  hope  you  will  sleep 
off  your  disgust.  Good-night,  Warren."  And  the 
good  lady  sailed  out  of  sight  as  proudly  as  her  niece 
had  done. 

Griffin  remained  just  as  Madeline  had  left  him. 

"  Oh,  come,  come,  Robert,"  remonstrated  Major 
Paul ;  "  as  your  aunt  says,  this  is  a  fine  time  to  quar 
rel.  What  does  it  matter  what  Madge  says  ?" 

"  It  matters  a  great  deal  to  me,  as  you  well  know," 
sinking  into  a  chair.  "  What  do  /  care  for  the  life 
he  has  saved  if  he  is  going  to  rob  me  of  what  I  value 
more  than  my  life?  She  has  already  fallen  in  love 
with  this  'great,  brave,  noble,  godlike  deliverer '- 
those  were  her  very  words!  How  can  she  help  it? 
how  could  any  woman  help  it — particularly  under 
the  circumstances  ?" 

"Folly  of  the  children  of  Israel !  I'd  as  soon  think 
of  her  falling  in  love  with  the  Olympian  Jupiter !" 

"But  she  has,  I  tell  you.  Her  face  follows  him 
like  a  sunflower.  I  have  eyes,  if  they  are  not  '  clear 


JEALOUSY.  155 

and  bright  as  those  of  an  infant.'  There's  another 
of  her  adoring  phrases,"  he  added,  with  intense  bit 
terness. 

"  She  wonders  at  him,  of  course,  as  we  all  do,  but 
that  does  not  necessarily  imply  love.  Come,  come, 
I'm  older  than  you  are,  and  I  know  more  about 
these  things  than  you  do,  Robert.  A  woman's  heart 
doesn't  always  go  with  her  eyes.  A  cat  may  look  at 
a  king,  but  she  may  not  want  to  jump  into  his  lap, 
for  all  that." 

"  She  never  cared  a  pin  for  me — and  what  chance 
have  I  now?  I  am  more  insignificant  than  ever  in 
her  eyes.  Curse  the  day  we  started  on  this  fools' 
errand !" 

"I  tell  you,  Robert,  you  are  wrong.  Xo  woman 
ever  cares  for  a  man,  whatever  he  may  be  or  what 
ever  he  may  have  done  for  her,  till  he  loves  her 
first." 

""Who  says  he  hasn't  loved  her  first?" 

"Bosh!  you  corybantic  ninny!  —  he  thinks  no 
more  of  her  than  if  she  were  a  kitten." 

"  I  wish  I  could  believe  you,  Uncle  Warren.  But 
you  are  blind ;  you  are  not  in  love  yourself,  and  you 
are  as  blind  as  a  stone." 

"  They  say  it  is  love  that  is  blind." 

"  Proverbs  are  always  lies,  and  that's  the  stupidest 
lie  of  all.  Ko  man  has  eyes  like  the  lover ;  he  sees 
everything.  Haven't  I  seen  this  god,  as  everybody 
calls  him,  drinking  in  her  charms  with  those  glaring 
eyes  of  his,  ever  since  he  first  set  them  on  her? 
Don't  you  remember  how  he  began  his  inventory 


156  A  DEMIGOD. 

by  looking  at  her  teeth?  Great  Heaven  !  as  if  she 
were  a  blooded  mare !  I  wish  she  had  made  him 
feel  them  !  He  evidently  knows  he'll  never  find 
another  like  her,  and  you  can  bet  your  life  he'll  not 
let  her  slip  if  he  can  help  it." 

"  Nonsense.  He's  a  scientist,  man  ;  he  wanted  to 
see  her  teeth  out  of  pure  scientific  curiosity.  He 
doesn't  often  have  such  an  opportunity  for  studying 
the  civilized  woman." 

"  Scientific  humbug !"  ejaculated  Griffin,  jerking 
his  head  from  side  to  side  in  his  impatience ;  "  as  if 
she  were  a  beetle  !  That's  worse  than  treating  her 
like  a  horse !" 

"  I  never  knew  before  that  beetles  had  teeth,"  re 
torted  the  major,  thinking  he  would  try  the  effect  of 
a  little  humor. 

"  Oh,  no  doubt  you  regard  it  as  a  stupendous  joke  ; 
but,  I  assure  you,  it's  no  joke  to  me." 

"  No,  my  poor  boy ;  I  do  not  regard  it  as  a  joke, 
by  any  means.  I'm  really  sorry  for  your  trouble.  I 
like  you,  and  have  always  liked  you.  To  be  sure, 
there  are  some  things  that —  You  know  Madge 
complains  of  a  few  little  points  which  you  can  easily 
correct,  Robert,  you  can  easily  correct — and  I  have 
hoped  with  all  my  heart  that  she  would  like  you  a 
thousand  times  better  than  I  do.  Still,  as  I  have  told 
you,  I  cannot  undertake  to  coerce  her.  It  would  do 
no  good  if  I  should — you  know  her  well  enough  for 
that.  I  really  think,  however,  that  your  suspicions 
arc  groundless.  In  the  first  place,  I've  no  idea  that 
this  Hector  Vyr  would  marry  an  American  girl. 


JEALOUSY.  157 

I've  a  notion  lie's  on  the  lookout  for  all  sorts  of 
physical  perfections  in  the  woman  he  is  to  marry, 
lie's  a  man  with  a  theory  and  a  mission,  and  onr 
American  girls  have  no  great  reputation  for  physical 
stamina,  you  know.  But  even  if  our  Madge  came 
up  to  his  standard,  I'm  positive  she  would  never  con 
sent  to  imprison  herself  in  this  wilderness;  no,  not 
if  the  iincst  god  of  Greek  mythology  should  come  to 
life  out  of  the  marble  and  offer  himself  to  her.  At 
all  events,  you  may  rest  assured  I  should  do  and  say 
all  in  my  power  to  ptcvent  it." 

"  Well,"  sighed  Griffin,  after  a  gloomy  pause,  "  I 
hope  Madge  lias  taught  him  a  thing  or  two  besides 
her  dental  formula.  Among  the  fine  traits  he  is  so 
anxious  to  develop  he'd  better  include  common  de 
cency.  I'm  thinking  it  will  take  a  good  many  gen 
erations  to  evolute  this  wonderful  race  into  gentle 
men."' 

"Hippogriffina  of  Bagdad!  but  you  are  bitter, 
aren't  you  ?" 

"  Do  you  wonder  at  it  ?  By  heavens  !  if  he  makes 
her  any  sign  I'll  light  him,  big  and  smart  as  he  is." 

"  There,  there ;  go  to  bed — that's  a  good  fellow. 
You  are  only  killing  yourself  with  this  exc-itement." 

"  I  say,  Uncle  Warren,  how  long  do  you  intend  to 
stay  here  ?  Can't  we  get  away  in  the  morning  ?" 

"  Perhaps  so.  We'll  have  to  get  away  soon  to  get 
some  clothes.  We  didn't  bring  our  trunks,  and  I 
doubt  very  much  whether  our  last  landlords  will  send 
them." 

"  Confound  it !  I  heard  his  half-crazy  mother  tell 


158  A  DEMIGOD. 

Aunt  Eliza  that  their  head-servant  Ghiannes  would 
#o  to  Athens  for  anything  we  needed.  But  wo 
needn't  accept.  We  can't  stay,  possibly,  can  we  ?" 

"  We'll  talk  about  it  in  the  morning.  Will  you 
come  to  bed  now  ?  I'm  going." 

Griffin  threw  his  arms  out  on  the  table,  and  drop 
ped  his  head  on  them.  His  uncle  spoke  a  few  con 
solatory  words,  and  left  him.  He  had  been  alone 
but  a  few  minutes  when  a  door  opened,  a  light  foot 
step  tripped  across  the  floor,  and  a  hand  was  laid  on 
his  shoulder.  He  looked  up  eagerly.  There  stood 
Madeline,  dressed  as  she  was  when  he  had  last  seen 
her. 

"  Forgive  me,  Robert." 

"  Oh,  Madeline,  you  do  not  love  this  great — pro 
digious —  savage,  do  you?" 

She  started  back  as  if  he  had  struck  her.  "  Rob 
ert  Griffin  !  what  are  you  saying  ?  I  came  to  make 
my  peace  with  you,  and  you  have —  Never  dare  to 
speak  to  me  in  this  way  again  !" 

Before  he  could  reply  she  was  gone. 


THE  TRADITIONAL   OATH.  1.VJ 


XII. 

THE    TRADITIONAL    OATH. 

MADELINE  arose  the  next  morning  with  a  delicious 
sense  of  rest,  of  terrible  peril  past  and  perfect  safety 
present,  of  keen  interest  in  the  singular  and  romantic 
situation  in  which  she  and  her  friends  were  placed, 
and  of  a  certain  unreasoning  happiness  besides  which 
made  her  join  the  birds  in  their  morning  songs. 
Then  there  came  up  like  a  cloud  over  the  bright  sky 
the  recollection  of  her  last  scene  with  Robert.  Poor 
liobert,  why  could  he  not  be  satisfied  with  her  warm, 
cousinly  affection  ?  AVhy  must  he  spoil  all,  making 
her  as  well  as  himself  unhappy  by  his  hopeless 
persistency  ?  ^Vhy,  above  all,  must  he  arouse  her 
indignation  by  his  obstinate  ingratitude  and  injustice 
to  their  brave  benefactor?  Did  he  not  know  that 
lie  was  taking  the  surest  means  of  alienating  even 
her  friendship  1  Had  he  not  always  shown  a  low 
estimate  of  her  mind  and  character  by  supposing 
that  she  could  tolerate  the  debased  opinions  and 
tastes  he  took  no  pains  to  conceal  from  her  i  Should 
she  not  be  serving  him  right  to  show  him  that  she 
even  felt  insulted  by  his  supposing  it  possible  for 
her  to  love  a  man  with  such  ideas  and  habits  as  he 
openly  avowed?  Why  should  she  feel  such  tender 
pity  for  him?  He  loved  her;  yes,  poor,  poor  boy, 
11 


100  A   DEMIGOD. 

he  did  love  her.  But  why,  then,  did  he  not  try  to 
please  her?  why  did  he  not  try  to  elevate  himself  to 
her  standard  ?  Until  he  showed  some  disposition  to 
do  that,  what  elaim  had  he  even  on  her  compassion  ? 
Certainly  none.  Before  aspiring  to  her  love,  let  him 
show  at  least  that  he  thought  it  worth  making  an 
effort  to  deserve.  With  this  definite  conclusion,  she 
strove  to  banish  the  painful  subject  from  her 
thoughts. 

Descending  to  the  drawing-room,  she  found  Ma 
dame  Yyr  placidly  entertaining  Miss  Wellington 
with  a  gossipy  description  of  the  few  people  she 
sometimes  met.  Rude  and  unlettered  as  they  were, 
in  general,  they  were  vivacious  and  kind-hearted,  and 
she  had  even  found  some  of  a  better  class  at  Mikro- 
Maina  whose  society  gave  her  much  comfort.  To 
Madeline's  inquiry  whether  she  did  not  often  sigh 
for  old  England,  she  replied  that  until  her  husband's 
death  such  a  feeling  had  scarcely  entered  her  mind. 
Since  then  her  anomalous  life  had  lost  very  much  of 
its  charm.  No  one,  not  even  a  son  like  his,  could  fill 
his  place  in  her  mind.  As  she  went  on,  her  eyes  di 
lated,  her  face  became  chalky  white,  as  it  had  been 
when  they  first  saw  her,  and  her  words  became  more 
and  more  incoherent.  With  delicate  tact  Madeline 
gradually  succeeded  in  drawing  her  thoughts  to  her 
native  land.  She  told  of  her  childhood  and  youth 
in  an  old  mansion  on  the  Thames ;  of  the  avenue  of 
grand  old  trees  under  which  she  used  to  run  races 
with  her  brother  ;  of  her  school  life  in  London,  and, 
finally,  of  her  leaving  home  with  her  father  and 


THE  TRADITIONAL   OATH.  161 

brother  to  make  the  tour  which  had  sealed  her  fate. 
Madeline  quickly  asked  if  she  had  never  visited  Eng 
land  since.  Yes,'  she  had  made  one  long,  delightful 
visit,  and  was  intending  some  day  to  make  another. 
Her  son  continually  urged  her  to  go ;  but  he  could 
not  be  persuaded  to  go  with  her,  and  she  would  not 
leave  him  with  only  the  servants  for  companions. 
Some  day,  perhaps,  there  would  be  one  to  take  her 
place ;  then  she  would  go.  She  was  very  glad  to 
meet  people  who  spoke  her  native  tongue.  She  had 
not  seemed  very  hospitable  the  evening  before,  but 
she  was  suffering  from  one  of  her  ill  turns,  and  they 
must  not  regard  it.  Hector  was  always  so  tender, 
never  ashamed  of  her,  whatever  she  might  say  or 
do,  although  she  knew  she  had  mortified  him  terri 
bly  more  than  once.  She  could  never  make  them 
understand  what  a  son  he  was  to  her,  always  so 
thoughtful  and  loving,  so  obedient  and  deferential, 
notwithstanding  he  was  so  great  and  strong  and  wise, 
and  she  so  weak  and  foolish.  But  she  had  not  al 
ways  been  so  ;  she  had  been  considered  even  remark 
able  for  her  robustness  of  both  body  and  mind  until 
— until  the  terrible  event  which — 

Here  Madeline  gently  interrupted  her,  to  ask 
whether  she  did  not  often  speak  English  with  her 
son,  who  understood  it  so  well.  She  used  to,  some 
times,  when  he  was  a  child,  but  not  of  late ;  she  had 
become  so  accustomed  to  the  language  of  the  coun 
try  in  which  she  had  spent  so  many  years  of  her  life, 
that  she  found  it  much  easier  to  her  than  her  own. 
It  was  surprising,  however,  how  it  all  came  back  to 


162  A    DEMIGOD. 

her,  now  that  she  was  talking  with  English  people, 
or,  what  was  the  same  thing,  Americans. 

At  this  point  Major  Paul  came  in,  accompanied 
by  his  host,  the  latter  dressed  in  ordinary  Greek  cos 
tume,  that  is  to  say,  with  his  brawny  neck,  arms,  and 
legs  covered,  as  they  had  not  been  the  previous  day. 

Vyr's  face  glowed  with  something  more  than  ex 
uberant  health,  and  his  voice  swelled  with  rich  reso 
nance,  as  he  said,  "  Kale-mura.  That  is  our  way  of 
saying  good-morning.  Miss  Paul,  your  face  shows 
to  me  that  you  know  to  sleep,  although  you  have 
come  from  the  country  where  it  says  sleep  is  a  lost 
art." 

"Why?"  Madeline  asked,  with  a  laugh.  "Do  I 
look  as  if  I  were  asleep  ?" 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  way  that  you  play  with  me.  Do 
those  birds  sing  like  as  they  are  asleep?  But  we 
know  from  their  happy  noise  how  that  they  have 
sleeped  most  sweetly." 

"  Oh,  I  am  noisy  ?" 

"  You  are  mischief.  Your  father  shall  whip  you. 
You  will  be  noisy  then,  I  think.  Manndlca,  is  the 
breakfast  prepared  ?  Mr.  Paul  and  I  are  prepared 
for  it." 

"  We  are  waiting  only  for  you  and  Mr.  Griffin." 

"I  beg  you  not  to  wait  for  him,"  said  the  major. 
"  If  Robert  prefers  walking  to  breakfast,  let  him 
have  his  preference." 

"It  is  right,"  answered  Yyr.  "We  must  not  all 
do  the  wrong  because  one  does  it." 

They  sat  down  to  a  meal  which,  though  simple 


THE   TRADITIONAL   OATH.  163 

as  their  supper  had  been,  their  keen  appetites  made 
sumptuous.  Vyr  ate  almost  voraciously,  but  princi 
pally  of  fruit. 

"Do  tell  me,  Mr.  Vyr,"  said  Miss  Wellington,  in  a 
sort  of  mild  desperation,  "  whether  you  really  wouldn't 
like  a  greater  variety  in  your  food,  if  you  didn't  think 
it  would — hurt  you." 

At  this  they  all  laughed,  the  host  loudest  of  all. 

"  You  think  it  is  a  strange  thing,"  he  said,  "  that  a 
lusty  animal  like  me  shall  be  so  full  of  care,  like  an 
invalid  which  is  in  the  charge  of  the  doctor.  But  I 
have  telled  you  that  I  do  not  have  care:  I  eat  what 
I  most  like,  because  I  know  that  is  the  best  for  my — 
stojnach.  It  is  a  strange  thing  to  me,  too,  that  your 
peoples  confuse  in  your  food  so  many  differing  sa 
vors.  Would  you  like  those  things  if  they  are  all 
together  mixed  in  one  dish?  —  bread,  oil,  bullock, 
wine,  soup,  fruit,  iishes,  nuts,  birds,  coffee,  tea,  garlic, 
pepper,  confection,  mustard,  butter,  salt,  vegetable, 
vinegar,  cigars  ?  Do  you  like  such  olla  podrida  / 
Yet  is  it  not  all  then  in  your  stomach,  when  you 
rise  from  the  table  ?" 

"No,"  said  the  major,  promptly.  "I  deny  the 
cigars." 

"Yes,  my  friend;  if  you  die  —  and  it  is  wonder 
why-fore  you  do  not  die  —  and  if  the  doctor  shall 
make  the  autopsy,  he  will  find  the  cigar,  too." 

A  lively,  half -playful  discussion  followed,  which 
Vyr  seemed  to  enjoy  hugely. 

After  breakfast  the  entertainer  took  Major  Paul 
to  an  eminence  at  a  short  distance  from  the  man- 


1G4  A   DEMIGOD. 

sion,  whence  were  visible  the  wheat-fields,  orchards, 
and  pastures  populous  with  herds,  of  the  Vyr  estate. 
Their  extent  and  flourishing  condition  explained  in 
part,  at  least,  the  opulence  of  their  owner's  home,  in 
a  country  where  the  finest  marble  is  cheaper  than 
granite.  Finding  a  natural  bench  of  stone,  they  seated 
themselves  with  their  backs  resting  against  a  rocky 
wall,  which  shaded  them  from  the  warm  morning 
sun. 

"  Now,"  said  Major  Paul,  with  good-humored  sar 
casm,  "  can  you  point  to  something  which  does  not 
belong  to  the  Yyr  estate  ?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Paul ;  we  do  not  own  the  sky,  not  the 
mountain-tops,  not  the  sea.  I  think,  too,  we  do  not 
own  the  ground,  although  the  laws  of  Greece  have 
given  it  to  us  for  many  generations.  I  think  we  own 
that  what  my  knowledge  and  labor  and  the  labor  of 
my  servants  make  from  the  ground.  I  have  more 
than  two  hundreds  of  Albanian  servants,  and  we  to 
gether  make  very  much  to  grow  from  the  ground. 
I  do  not  prevent  that  other  peoples  shall  make  from 
my  ground,  too,  if  it  is  their  wishes,  arid  if  they  do 
not  rob  like  the  klephts ;  but  they  must  pay  to  me  a 
little,  because  I  and  my  fathers  have  made  the  ground 
to  be  better  for  them.  It  is  justice." 

"  Most  certainly  it  is  justice,"  replied  the  major, 
emphatically.  "  By-the-way,  I  am  curious  to  know 
what  sort  of  arrangement  you  make  with  your  serv 
ants." 

"  I  pay  to  them  that  what  their  labor  has  value. 
It  is  enough,  and  they  are  content.  I  know  very 


THE   TRADITIONAL   OATH.  105 

much  more  than  they  do  know,  and  my  knowledge 
makes  their  labor  to  be  much  more  value,  which  I 
do  not  give  to  them.  I  hold  the  greater  value  to 
myself — it  is  justice.  I  also  give  good  deal  to  the 
Government.  That  is  justice,  too ;  because  I  think 
that  the  ground  is  really  their  ground,  and  because 
they  give  to  me  much  protection,  and  they  make  it 
that  I  can  sell  my  herds  and  my  harvests,  and  that  I 
can  buy  all  things  that  I  wish  from  all  the  world. 
The  Government  also  gives  to  me  much  money,  be 
cause  I  have  drived  away  the  klephts  many  times 
from  the  country.  It  is  all  justice." 

'•AVell,  Mr.  Yyr,"  said  Major  Paul,  relieving  the 
strain  of  the  attention  with  which  he  had  listened  by 
a  deep,  long  breath,  "  I  do  not  see  but  that  you  un 
derstand  the  philosophy  of  trade  and  taxation  as  well 
as  if  you  lived  in  Boston — and  apply  it,  too,  excepting 
that  you  are  much  more  liberal  than  men  usually  are." 

"  1  pay  good  deal  to  the  poor  peoples  also,  which  I 
find—" 

"  Pay  ?"  with  a  puzzled  look. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Paul.  I  pay  to  them,  because  I  think 
it  is  justice.  God  has  placed  them  here,  and  they 
own  some  of  the  ground  like  as  all  the  children  own 
the  ground  of  their  father.  But  I  do  not  go  all  over 
the  world  to  find  them.  Other  rich  men  must  pay 
to  their  own  poor  peoples  in  the  places  where  they 
live  together." 

"  Il'm;  you  conduct  your  affairs  on  a  very  unusual 
basis,  sir.  I  don't  see  how  you  prosper  as  you  seem 
to  on  that  principle." 


166  A    DEMIGOD. 

"  I  have  enough,  Mr.  Paul,  to  do  all  my  wishes, 
and  very  much  more." 

"Do  you  go  to  Athens  yourself  to  transact  your 
business  with  the  Government  ?" 

"  No  ;  the  agent  comes  to  me." 

"But  how  have  you  been  able  to  gather  so  many 
choice  books,  ornaments,  and  other  things  as  you  have 
in  your  house,  if  you  go  abroad  so  little  ?" 

"That  is  very  easily  explain.  My  old  Ghiannes 
goes  away  very  much.  lie  is  wise  and  cultivate — he 
was  once  a  teacher  in  Athens — he  knows  the  things 
what  I  love,  he  sends  to  me  description  and  pictures^ 
and  I  send  to  him  that  he  shall  buy  them  for  me. 
He  brought  for  my  mother  the  English  tables  and 
chairs  and  other  things  which  you  have  seen." 

"So  you  have  never  been  to  Athens  yourself?" 

"  You  do  not  remember,  Mr.  Paul.  Have  I  not 
said  to  you  that  I  have  been  there  two  times  ?  One 
time  was  when  I  was  a  little  boy,  with  my  father ; 
the  other  time  was  three  years  ago." 

"  You  must  have  attracted  a  great  deal  of  atten 
tion." 

"  Yes,  a  little ;  not  much,  because  we  put  on  the 
dress  like  the  other  peoples.  Everybody  stared  at  us 
a  little,  because  we  were  so  red  in  our  cheeks,  I  sup 
pose,  and  because  we  walked  so  strangely ;  but  no 
one  knew  us  who  we  were." 

"  You  have  mentioned  your  father  several  times. 
Are  you  willing  to  tell  me  more  about  him  ?" 

A  majestic  sadness  settled  over  Vyr's  face.  For 
a  few  moments  he  was  silent ;  then  he  began  :  "  My 


THE   TRADITIONAL   OATH.  167 

father  was  killed  by  the  kleplits  three  years  ago.  It 
was  then  that  I  went  to  Athens  the  second  time,  Mr. 
Paul.  I  telled  you  that  I  would  explain  to  you  of 
my  mother.  It  was  the  lightning-bolt  from  the  sky 
to  her ;  she  has  never  recovered  herself  from  it. 
Nothing  has  been  left  to  her  as  it  was,  except  that  to 
me,  her  son,  she  is  the  same.  And  I  too — for  long 
time  my  heart  was  the  furnace  trying  to  consume 
my  big  body.  But  nature  is  kind,  and  I  was  young 
er  and  stronger  than  my  poor  mother." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Major  Paul,  his  broad  face  glow 
ing  with  interest  and  sympathy ;  "  that  is,  if  you 
are— 

"I  will  go  on,  because  you  ask  it." 
"  Not  by  any  means,  Mr.  Vyr,  if  it  pains  you." 
"  I  do  not  wish  to  escape  from  that  pain.  I  wish 
that  I  shall  never  cease  to  offer  to  my  dead  father 
the  incense  of  my  sorrow.  In  his  body  he  was  like 
to  me :  in  his  character — it  is  my  most  highest  am 
bition  to  be  like  to  him.  "When  he  was  older  than  I 
am  now  a  little,  he  tried  to  rescue  a  family  from  the 
captivity  of  the  kleplits.  It  was  an  English  family 
of  rank.  He  could  not  save  them,  only  the  daugh 
ter,  and  she  was  my  mother.  Oh,  Mr.  Paul,  you  have 
never  seen  my  mother.  She  was  proud  and  strong 
and  beautiful ;  her  talking  was  full  of  diamonds  like 
to  the  lights  in  her  eyes.  It  is  to  me  only  that  she 
has  not  changed." 

"  She  is  very  beautiful  still,"  said  Major  Paul,  in  a 
low,  tender  voice. 

"  To  you,  too  ?"  replied  Hector  Vyr,  his  face  light- 


168  A  DEMIGOD. 

ing  up  with  joy.  "I  am  very  glad  for  that.  I  had 
fear  that —  But  I  will  tell  to  you  the  story  :  when 
I  was  a  little  child  rny  father  protected  me  against 
all  the  things  which  he  thought  can  make  feeble  in 
any  little  way  my  body  and  my  mind.  He  taught 
to  me  the  habits  and  the  thoughts  which  you  have 
seen.  Like  to  the  father  of  Hannibal,  he  made  me 
to  say  an  oath.  It  was  that  I  shall  never  relax  those 
severe  regime  which  he  taught  to  me ;  that  I  shall 
never  accept  offices  from  the  Government  or  from 
the  peoples ;  that  I  shall  always  live  in  a  home  iso 
late  from  civilized  men ;  that  I  shall  avoid  all  noto 
rieties  ;  that  I  shall  inarry  myself  with  none  of  those 
faults  of  the  mind  and  body  which  are  so  great  curses 
to  the  race  of  man  ;  and,  at  the  last,  that  I  shall  make 
my  son  which  shall  take  my  place  to  swear  the  same. 
Not  until  the  fourteenth  generation  are  the  Yyrs  to 
be  released  from  this  oath." 

"  A  most  remarkable  oath,"  said  his  listener,  half 
to  himself. 

"  Yes.  It  is  not  like  to  any  other,  I  suppose,  that 
men  have  ever  sworn." 

"Do  you  not  consider  it  rather — a — oppressive? 
Do  you  think  a  father  has  a  right  to  impose  such  an 
obligation,  or  that  his  children  are  morally  bound  to 
obey  it  V 

"  I  said  my  father  made  me  to  swear :  it  is  better 
that  I  say  he  persuaded  me.  But  he  persuaded  so 
strongly,  so  irresistibly,  his  reasons  which  he  spoke 
were  so  cogent,  and  the  thing  at  which  he  purposed 
was  so  noble,  and  it  so  allured  to  me,  that  it  was  the 


THE   TRADITIONAL   OATH.  169 

same  like  he  compelled  me.  It  seems  to  me  like  as 
it  was  a  command  to  me  fixmi  Heaven." 

"  The  object,  if  I  have  rightly  understood  you,  is 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  highest  possible  de 
gree  of  self-development." 

"  Yes,  that  is  right.  You  do  not  see  the  nobleness 
of  such  object  ?  It  is  like  to  selfishness  ?  Ah,  Mr. 
Paul,  one  man  is  only  one  little  link  in  a  long  chain. 
He  is  a  fountain,  and  it  is  to  flow  from  him  a  river 
through  all  the  ages  that  shall  come,  to  the  great 
ocean  of  Eternity.  You  do  not  think  of  all  the  ages 
that  shall  come — you  think  alone  of  to-day." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  understand  you  perfectly,  Mr.  Yyr. 
But  I  must  confess  the  thoughts  you  suggest  are  too 
— the  issues  you  speak  of  are  too  comprehensive,  they 
involve  too  much,  for  me  to  take  them  all  in  at  one 
breath.  One  thing  occurs  to  me,  however:  I  do  not 
see  why  even  self-development  would  not  be  best  ef 
fected  by  free  mingling  in  society,  by  vigorous  ac 
tion  with  and  upon  men.  And,  Mr.  Vyr,  when  I  re 
flect  what  grand  results  you  might  accomplish  with 
your  wonderfully  developed  powers,  how  you  might 
influence  men  by  your  example  to  imitate,  in  some 
degree  at  least,  your  methods,  I  cannot  but  feel  that 
your  asceticism  is  a  great  wrong  both  to  yourself  and 
to  your  race." 

"  You  cannot  separate  your  thoughts  from  here 
and  now,"  answered  Yyr,  a  little  impatiently.  "  When 
the  fulness  of  time  shall  be  come,  some  of  our  line 
age  will  go  out  from  solitude,  and  do  our  mission  in 
the  world.  But  it  is  not  the  time  yet.  We  do  not 


170  A   DEMIGOD. 

pluck  the  fruit  from  the  tree  until  it  is  ripe.  "We 
are  not  yet  ripe ;  we  are  only  in  the  seventh  genera 
tion  ;  we  have  not  yet  risen  to  the  high  possibility.'''' 

"But  what  possible  objection  can  there  be  to  go 
ing  forth  now?  Instead  of  interfering  with  your 
self-development,  I  should  think  the  very  activity  of 
life  in  the  world  of  busy  men  would  help  it  on." 

"  Mr.  Paul,"  returned  Vyr,  with  slow,  emphatic 
utterance, "  that  day  which  takes  me  away  from  my 
solitude  here  shall  be  the  doomday  to  the  great  pur 
pose,  that  what  the  representatives  of  seven  genera 
tions  of  our  family  have  devote  themselves  like  to  a 
religion.  That  what  you  wish  me  to  do,  it  has  been 
tested.  I  have  not  yet  explain  to  you  one  thing: 
our  families  have  been  few — most  always  it  has  been 
only  one  child.  But  sometimes  it  was  more;  then 
all  except  one  were  not  bound  by  the  oath.  All  the 
others  they  can  go  away  where  they  wish  to  go. 
Some  have  made  great  reputation.  You  would  be 
astonished  if  I  shall  tell  to  you  their  name.  But  it 
was  the  end.  Their  children  have  been  swallowed 
up  in  the  great  ocean  of  men  without  name.  That 
would  be  the  same  with  me  if  I  should  do  as  you 
say  to  me.  This  is  why-fore  I  have  sworn  to  stay 
here  as  my  fathers." 

"  And  you  really  believe  that  want  of  intercourse 
with  your  fellow -men,  of  the  stimulus  to  activity 
which  they  would  be  to  you,  is  not  a  great  loss  ?" 

"  I  have  the  intercourse,  all  which  I  can  spare  the 
time.  Do  you  forget  I  have  many  servants  which 
I  must  teach  and  command  ?  I  see  many  times  the 


TIIE   TRADITIONAL   OATH.  171 

agents  and  the  men  which  do  business  with  me.  And 
I  have  enough  activity.  I  labor  every  day  with  the 
greatest  activity  of  all  the  powers  of  my  mind  and 
my  body.  You  think  1  and  my  fathers  have  not 
write  books  ?" 

"Indeed  I  had  no  idea  of  such  a  thing.  Did  they 
publish  over  their  own  names  ?" 

"  They  have  not  published.  They  write  books  for 
ourselves,  not  for  the  world/' 

"  But  why  do  you  not  give  them  to  the  world  ? 
That  certainly  could  do  you  no  harm,  and  it  might 
be  of  vast  benefit  to  others." 

"Have  I  not  said  to  you  that  the  world  has  not 
necessity  for  more  books?  It  has  enough  already, 
and  much  more  than  enough.  No  man  can  drink 
except  a  few  little  cups  from  the  sea  of  books.  I 
say  to  you  again,  because  you  do  not  remember,  men 
have  not  necessity  for  more  to  read,  but  for  better 
brains  to  read  that  what  is  already  write." 

"Then  why  do  you  write  books  at  all  even  for 
yourselves?"  asked  the  major,  becoming  more  and 
more  perplexed.  "The  libraries  of  the  world  are  as 
accessible  to  you  as  to  any  one  else,  I  believe  you 
have  said." 

"We  write  because  of  the  benefit  to  ourselves  of 
writing.  It  is  very  great  development  of  the  intel 
lects,  like  hard  labor  is  to  the  body.  It  is  very  little 
good  to  me  to  look  at  you  when  you  lift  the  great 
stone.  I  must  lift  it  by  myself,  that  I  shall  grow 
strong.  Like  that,  it  is  more  good  to  me  to  write  a 
book  by  rfiyself  than  to  read  that  book  which  other 


172  A   DEMIGOD. 

men  have  write.  But  I  must  do  the  both,  too.  I 
must  eat  with  the  mouth  of  my  brain,  and  labor  with 
the  hands  of  my  brain.  I  must  do  the  two  things 
both." 

"  I  hope,"  said  the  major,  deferentially,  "  you  will 
allow  me  the  pleasure  of  reading  some  of  the  works 
of  which  you  speak,  especially  those  from  your  own 
pen — though  I  suppose,  of  course,  I  shall  have  to  get 
some  one  to  translate  them  for  me." 

"Not  any  one  can  read  them  except  myself,"  re 
plied  Vyr,  smiling ;  "  they  are  all  here,"  touching 
his  forehead  with  his  finger.  "  I  write  them  when  I 
walk,  when  I  labor  in  the  fields ;  it  is  too  much  of 
time  to  write  them  with  paper.  But  you  shall  see 
the  things  which  I  and  my  fathers  have  discovered  in 
our  laboratory  —  chemistry,  mineralogy,  botany,  zo 
ology." 

"  You  surprise  me  more  and  more.  Have  you 
made  many  new  discoveries?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  have  not  read  all  the  books 
which  men  have  write ;  but  it  is  indifference  to  me 
if  they  are  new  or  old.  It  is  enough  if  I  discover 
by  myself.  When  you  give  to  your  little  boy  some 
questions  of  matheinatic,  he  must  answer  them  for 
himself ;  it  is  not  good  that  other  peoples  shall  an 
swer  them  for  him.  Like  that,  Nature  gives  to  us 
great  questions,  and  it  is  better  that  we  shall  answer 
them  by  ourselves,  not  that  we  shall  read  those  an 
swers  of  other  men." 

"  Even  in  your  studies  you  think  nothing  of  the 
benefit  you  might  be  to  others — only  of  yourself," 


THE  TRADITIONAL   OATH.  173 

exclaimed  Major  Paul,  with  feeling.  Then  he  red- 
cK'iH'd,  and  begun  to  stammer  an  apology. 

Vyr  smiled  again.  "Do  not  yon  think  offence, 
Mr.  Paul,"  he  said.  "  I  am  glad  that  you  have  learn 
to  say  to  me  your  thoughts.  I  wish  that  you  shall 
not  hide  them  from  me.  Say  some  more." 

Thus  encouraged,  the  major  went  on:  "I  should 
think  you  would  be  afraid  that  so  much  thought 
about  yourself,  so  much  energy  expended  upon  your 
self,  and  so  little  upon  your  fellow-men,  of  the  pres 
ent  generation  at  least,  would  develop  a  trait  in  your 
character  that  even  you  will  acknowledge  is  neither 
admirable  nor  desjrable." 

'•  You  mean  the  selfishness,  egotism  ?"  with  a  good- 
natured  smile. 

The  major  nodded. 

"  I  shall  show  you  different.  If  I  think  only  of 
myself,  it  would  be  the  climax  of  egotism ;  but  do 
not  you  understand  what  that  would  make  me  to  do? 
What  do  the  selfish  men,  the  egotists,  try  to  do? 
What  do  they  burn  up  their  hearts  and  their  souls  to 
do  '.  Is  not  it  that  they  shall  get  to  themselves  fame, 
glory,  the  isolate  name  which  shall  sound  loud  among 
all  the  peoples  of  the  world,  and  shall  go  down  with 
great  echoes  to  the  posterity  ?  I  am  content — yes, 
Mr.  Paul,  I  wish — that  the  fame  of  Hector  Vyr  shall 
never  go  away  from  these  mountains.  Who  is  Hec 
tor  Vyr?  One  man.  Who  is  one  man?  lie  is 
nothing  —  except  the  preserver  and  the  transmitter 
of  a  Type.  It  is  my  aspiration  that  I  shall  be  one 
little  step,  one  little  round  stick  without  name,  in  the 


171  A   DEMIGOD. 

ladder  which  shall  elevate  one  family,  at  least,  to  the 
ideal  manhood.  I  wish  that  the  little  stick  shall  be 
strong,  that  it  shall  not  break.  Is  it  selfishness,  Mr. 
Paul  ?  is  it  egotism  ?" 

Overpowered  by  the  inspired  eloquence  of  the 
strange  enthusiast's  face,  voice,  gestures,  the  major 
could  only  say,  in  a  low,  humble  tone,  "  No,  Mr.  Vyr ; 
I  beg  your  pardon  for  my —  It  is  the  climax  of  self- 
sacrifice." 

"Not  self-sacrifice,"  returned  Vyr,  with  unabated 
ardor,  "  for  I  am  very  happy.  What  is  fame,  glory, 
to  me?  It  is  nothing.  It  is  the  envy  of  your 
friends,  and  the  homage  of  your  strangers,  which 
love  }rou  less  as  they  are  more  distance  away  from 
you.  You  are  not  to  them  a  man,  you  are  nothing 
except  a  name.  If  I  shall  be  famous,  I  shall  still  be 
isolate  like  as  I  am  now.  What  is  it  matter  if  I  am 
above  my  fellow-men,  or  if  I  am  far  away  from 
them ;  I  am  not  one  of  them  if  I  shall  be  one  or 
other.  JSTo,  Mr.  Paul ;  I  have  not  thirst  for  glory, 
for  my  life  is  full  without  it.  Except  one  black 
year,  my  life  has  been  intense  happiness.  Every 
thing  is  joy  to  me,  even  the  knowledge  that  I 
live." 

"I  think  I  can  understand  that,"  replied  the  ma 
jor,  thoughtfully  and  admiringly  surveying  his  com 
panion's  splendid  physique.  "  I  have  heard  perfect 
happiness  defined  as  the  perfectly  harmonious  opera 
tion  of  all  the  natural  functions.  I  thank  you  for 
what  you  have  said.  I  feel  highly  honored  by  the 
confidence  you  have  placed  in  me,  and  the  pains  you 


THE  TRADITIONAL  OATH.  175 

have  taken  to  enlighten  me  upon  matters  which  you 
must  hold  sacred  above  all  others." 

"  One  thing,"  said  Vyr,  speaking  in  a  lower  tone 
and  more  slowly,  "  I  have  not  explained.  You  do 
not  understand  how  that  I  speak  so  much  to  you, 
when  I  have  sworn  that  I  shall  avoid  all  notorie 
ties  ?'"' 

"  Pardon  me,"  answered  Major  Paul,  quickly  ;  "  I 
see  no  difficulty  there.  You  recognize  in  me  a  man 
of  honor.  You  know  perfectly  well  that  nothing 
would  tempt  me  to  violate  your  confidence,  even  if 
you  had  not  placed  me  and  my  friends  under  the 
greatest  possible  obligation." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Paul;  I  know  that  you  are  a  man  of 
honor,  but  that  alone  shall  never  make  me  to  be  a 
gossip  to  you.  You  are  the  only  man  except  myself 
which  knows  our  family  secret.  I  have  a  great  rea- 
eon  why-fore  I  give  it  to  you.  I  shall  tell  the  reason 
to  you  before  you  go  away.  I,  also,  am  a  man  of 
honor." 

Had  the  speaker  been  any  other  than  Hector  Vyr, 
the  major  would  have  felt  no  uncertainty  as  to  his 
meaning.  lie  gazed  into  his  eyes  in  an  eager  en 
deavor  to  extort  from  them  the  promised  revelation, 
hut  they  remained  as  placid  and  unfathomable  as  a 
cloudless  sky. 

After  a  while  Vyr  went  on  :  "  My  father  was  fifty- 
eight  years  when  he  died — at  the  ripeness  of  his  great 
manhood.  No  wrinkle  was  in  his  face,  no  white  in 
his  hair ;  his  foot  was  light  and  swift  in  its  step  like 
my  own ;  his  arm  was  more  strong  than  my  arm." 
12 


176  A  DEMIGOD. 

"  How,  then,  was  it,"  asked  Major  Paul,  with  deep 
interest,  "  that  he  fell  a  victim  to  the  villains  whom 
you  so  easily  manage  ?" 

"  '  Manage  ?'  " 

"  Yes — conquer,  vanquish." 

"  Ah !  lie  was  wound  by  a  bullet  from  a  klepht 
which  hided  himself;  he  was  so  hurted  that  he  could 
not  walk ;  he  was  made  a  captive— and  he  was  killed 
by  the  torture" 

"Horrible!"  exclaimed  Major  Paul,  springing  up 
from  his  seat.  "  Fiends  as  they  are,  I  never  thought 
they  were  such  hellish  fiends  as  that !" 

Yyr  answered,  calmly,  "  They  hate  the  Vyrs  with 
the  great  hatred.  We  have  been  their  enemies  with 
the  greatest  success  of  all  from  many  generations. 
If  I  shall  be  captive  to  them,  they  will  do  the  same 
things  to  me  like  those  which  they  did  to  my  father." 

"  Is  not  your  hate  equal  to  theirs  ?"  asked  the  ma 
jor,  in  great  excitement.  "I  should  think  the  first 
great  object  of  your  life  would  be  to  avenge  your 
father.  Damn  the  wretches !  I  wouldn't  rest  till 
I  had  swept  the  whole  race  from  the  face  of  the 
earth!" 

For  some  moments  Yyr  made  no  answer.  He 
seemed  altogether  to  forget  the  existence  of  his  com 
panion,  while  his  great  dark  eyes  were  fixed  with 
an  inscrutable  expression  on  vacancy.  Suddenly  he 
aroused  from  his  reverie,  and  said,  in  a  quieter  tone 
than  usual,  "  No,  Mr.  Paul ;  I  have  not  revenge  in 
my  heart.  The  klephts  are  the  victim  of  nature  and 
of  fortune.  They  have  inherit  from  their  fathers, 


THE   TRADITIONAL   OATH.  177 

liko  as  I  have  inherit  from  my  fathers.  If  there 
shall  be  a  country  like  Greece,  with  the  history  like 
the  history  of  Greece,  it  must  be  that  there  shall  be 
such  peoples  in  the  mountains  like  the  klephts,  like 
as  it  must  be  that  there  shall  be  the  reptiles  in  the 
marsh,  and  the  bears  in  the  caves  of  Arcadia.  I 
know  that  it  is  necessity  for  mankind  that  they  shall 
be  exterminate,  like  to  the  other  beasts  of  prey.  It 
is  one  part  of  my  business,  my  mission,  that  I  shall 
hunt  them  and  kill  them  like  to  other  serpents.  I 
sometimes  go  far  from  my  home  that  I  may  do  this 
thing,  because  they  do  not  come  near  to  me  many 
times. 

"  Those  Englishmen  which  were  my  guests  before 
you,  asked  me  if  I  do  not  have  remorse  when  I  have 
killed  a  klepht,  if  I  do  not  see  his  spirit  in  my  sleep. 
I  say  to  them, '  If  I  shall  do  the  wrong,  I  shall  feel 
great  remorse,  God  shall  terribly  punish  me ;  but  if 
I  shall  do  the  right,  it  is  disease  of  the  weak  mind 
and  of  the  weak  nerves,  it  is  not  punishment,  if  I 
shall  suffer.  But  I  cannot  prevent  that  I  shall  not 
feel  great  compassion  in  my  heart.' " 

Major  Paul  had  indulged  very  sparingly  in  his 
characteristic  ejaculations  under  the  restraint  of  Hec 
tor  Vyr's  mighty  personality ;  but  here  his  growing 
astonishment  entirely  broke  through  his  restraint. 
kt  AVell,  by  the  arrow-head  on  the  tail  of  great  King 
Diabolus!"  he  cried,  "  if  that  isn't  the  meekest,  cold 
est-blooded  philosophy  I  ever  listened  to !'' 

Yyr  smiled,  but  there  was  no  trace  of  mirth  or  of 
offence  in  his  smile.  "You  did  not  think  that  I  am 


178  A  DEMIGOD. 

meek  or  cold-blooded  when  you  saw  me  at  the  first, 
Mr.  Paul  ?" 

"  Not  much,  I  didn't,  general,"  answered  the  ma 
jor,  with  a  sudden  and  total  change  of  manner.  "  And 
it's  actions  that  tell,  after  all,  not  words.  My  en 
ergy  goes  mostly  to  words,  they  tell  me.  Yours 
doesn't." 

"  By-the-way,"  he  added,  after  a  short  silence,  "that 
reminds  me  of  a  question  I  have  been  wanting  to  ask 
for  a  long  time." 

"  You  may  ask  it." 

"  Suppose  that  bullet  had  gone  through  your  heart 
instead  of  your  arm — \vhat  would  have  become  of 
the  Great  Object  ?" 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Paul,"  answered  Yyr,  looking  solemnly 
upward,  "my  work  would  be  finish.  God's  will 
would  be  done.  No  stain  of  the  coward  must  l>e 
transmitted  to  the  Coming  Type" 


XIII. 

THE    REASON  "  WHY-FORE." 

ROMANTIC  as  was  their  situation,  our  travellers 
were  still  in  a  world  of  numberless  unromantic  needs, 
for  which  no  amount  of  poetry  or  sentiment  can  fur 
nish  a  substitute.  Great  was  their  relief,  therefore, 
when  Ghiannes  returned  from  Athens,  bringing  with 
him  sundry  packages  and  big  boxes,  with  a  letter 
from  the  proprietor  of  the  Xen-odochcion  tes  Agglias 


THE   REASON   "WHY-FORE."  179 

convoying  his  good  wishes — most  extravagantly  ex 
pressed — and  the  hope  that  the  various  commissions 
with  which  lie  and  his  wife  had  been  charged,  had 
been  satisfactorily  executed.  So,  despite  the  entreat 
ies  and  angry  remonstrances  of  Griffin,  and  the  vacil 
lation  of  the  major — who,  as  usual,  was  tremendously 
powerful  in  speech  and  correspondingly  feeble  in  ac 
tion — they  remained  day  after  day,  until  nearly  three 
weeks  had  passed. 

During  this  time  not  the  least  wonderful  among 
the  feats  which  their  host  was  continually  perform 
ing — with  no  thought  on  his  part,  however,  of  their 
being  feats — was  the  mastery  he  made  of  idiomatic 
English.  As  is  not  unfrequently  the  case  with  men 
of  far  weaker  receptivity  and  grasp,  he  seemed  to 
achieve  this  mastery  all  at  once.  After  continuing 
for  several  days  the  various  solecisms  which  we  have 
observed  in  his  speech,  he  suddenly  dropped  them, 
and  thenceforth  his  English  was  scarcely  less  pure 
than  that  of  his  American  guests ;  indeed,  so  far  as 
the  major's,  at  least,  was  concerned,  it  wras  generally 
choicer,  if  not  always  so  forcible.  This  was  not,  af 
ter  all,  the  miracle  it  seemed.  It  was  simply  the  feat 
of  a  prodigious  memory  and  of  a  no  less  prodigious 
facility  for  catching  the  tricks  of  verbal  expression. 
He  read  a  pocket  dictionary  and  an  English  gram 
mar  as  rapidly  as  most  people  would  read  a  novel. 
Once  read,  they  were  learned. 

Late  one  afternoon  host  and  guests  were  all  seated 
on  the  veranda.  The  sun  had  set,  but  not  all  his 
glory.  The  distant  waters  slept  peacefully  under  a 


180  A   DEMIGOD. 

canopy  of  purple  and  gold,  and  the  long,  shadowed 
slopes  of  the  mountains  relieved  their  summits,  still 
bright,  and  the  velvety  green  of  the  nearer  valleys. 

"  You  are  so  accustomed  to  the  beauties  of  mount 
ain  scenery,  Mr.  Yyr,"  said  Miss  Wellington,  "  that 
I  suppose  you  hardly  notice  them,  except  when  there 
are  others  to  admire  them  with  you." 

"  My  thoughts  are  not  directly  upon  them — often," 
replied  Yyr,  with  an  air  of  introspection.  "  Still,  they 
have  become  a  kind  of  necessity  to  me.  I  feel 
cramped  and  shut  in,  as  if  it  were,  when  I  am  away, 
like  a  captive  in  prison  or  a  bird  in  cage.  When 
I  am  in  Sparta  or  Athens,  I  feel  as  if  I  could  not 
breathe." 

"  I  think  I  know  one  reason  why  you  go  away  so 
little,"  rejoined  Miss  Wellington,  as  if  the  thought 
had  suddenly  occurred  to  her. 

"Well?"  with  his  smile.  "I  am  anxious  to  un 
derstand  myself  better." 

"  You  are  afraid  the  klephts  will  take  advantage  of 
your  absence,  and  lay  your  house  and  fields  in  ruins." 

"I  think  you  are  right,  Miss  Wellington;  though 

•/  O         '  O  O 

it  would  be  the  same  if  there  were  no  such  beings  as 
the  klephts  in  existence.  I  should  never  go  far  away 
unless  I  were  absolutely  compelled." 

"  They  sometimes  venture  into  your  vicinity,  in 
spite  of  the  terror  of  your  name,"  remarked  Griffin, 
who  had  developed  a  fondness  for  saying  such  things, 
particularly  when  Madeline  was  within  hearing. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Yyr,  with  the  serene  magnanim 
ity  which,  instead  of  rebuking,  had  only  encouraged 


THE   REASON  "WHY-FORE."  181 

the  envious  young  man's  covert  insolence  ;  "  other 
wise  you  would  not  have  fallen  into  their  clutches. 
Ihit,''  addressing  the  rest,  "it  is  not  often  that  they 
come.  They  are  not  so  safe  in  these  mountains  as 
they  are  in  northern  Greece  from  their  other  ene 
mies — to  say  nothing  of  myself.  There  they  can  es 
cape  from  one  chain  to  another,  while  in  the  single 
chain  of  the  Taygetns  an  energetic  and  well  organ 
ized  movement  might  cut  off  their  retreat  on  both 
sides.  I  think  they  would  never  come  south  of  the 
isthmus  at  all,  if  it  were  not  for  their  hope  of  catch 
ing  me  at  last.  Notwithstanding  their  superstitious 
fear  of  the  AnthropoJd'/ uton  and  his  noiseless,  srnoiye- 
less  fc/<  r»<lo)i,  a  sort  of  fascination  sometimes  tempt. •• 
them  to  their  fate,  as  the  flume  of  the  lamp  tempts 
the  silly  moth.  They  complain,"  he  added,  laughing, 
"that  my  warfare  is  not  fair  warfare.  This  last  in 
vasion  of  theirs,  however,  was  probably  entirely  on 
your  account.  They  heard  of  your  intended  visit, 
and  came  down  purposely  to  meet  you." 

"No,"  said  the  major;  "  Peschino  got  his  informa 
tion  from  one  of  the  Government  messengers  that 
was  sent  to  announce  our  visit." 

"  He  might  have  done  that  in  the  very  heart  of 
Athens,"  answered  Vyr. 

"How  would  that  be  possible?"  asked  Miss  Well 
ington. 

"Oh,  these  fellows  venture  everywhere.  Peschi 
no,  in  particular,  is  an  adept  at  disguising  himself. 
1  have  heard  that  he  boasts  of  having  danced  with 
some  of  the  finest  ladies  at  the  Roval  Palace !" 


182  A   DEMIGOD. 

"  Don't  you  sometimes  wish  you  were  free  to  or 
ganize  and  head  a  grand  movement  to  exterminate 
them  altogether  ?"  asked  Madeline. 

o 

"  I  often  wish  there  were  many  others  to  fight 
them  in  my  own  way ;  but  your  own  adventure 
shows  to  you  how  useless  ordinary  troops  would  be 
against  them.  An  army  would  be  almost  as  helpless 
as  a  single  man.  Even  if  it  were  not  so,  many 
changes  must  be  made  before  there  could  be  the 

O 

slightest  use  in  such  an  attempt.  First  of  all,  the 
Ottoman  Empire,  the  great  retuge  of  the  klephts, 
musty  be  converted  or  subjugated.  Then  there  must 
be/  internal  changes — physical,  social,  and  political : 
roadways  must  be  constructed  from  coast  to  coast 
across  the  mountains ;  the  morale  of  the  whole  na 
tion  must  be  raised ;  as  it  is,  not  only  a  certain  part 
of  the  people,  but  some  of  the  Government  officials 
themselves  are  said  to  be  the  secret  allies  of  the 
klephts.  Do  you  not  see  they  have  nothing  to  lose 
by  being  so  ?  If  they  displease  the  outlaws  without 
destroying  them,  they  are  like  the  huntsman  who  but 
slightly  wounds  a  dangerous  animal.  If  they  please 
the  outlaws,  they  are  only  lightly  taxed  by  them, 
and  not  otherwise  disturbed.  It  is  doubtless  a  fact 
that  certain  politicians  depend  for  their  principal 
support  upon  the  brigand  chiefs,  who  control  the 
suffrages  of  the  people  they  rob.  If  these  politicians 
remain  neutral,  the  suffrages  of  the  people  are  given 
to  their  political  rivals.  No,  Mr.  Paul,  I  have  no 
longing  to  organize  and  head  any  movement  under  a 
government  made,  in  part,  by  its  own  outlaws.  I 


THE   KEASOX    "  WHY-FORE."  183 

am  content  to  go  on  fighting  the  wretches  as  my  fa 
thers  did  before  me,  and  the  Government  is  glad  to 
send  their  agents  to  compensate  me,  for,  you  must 
understand,  at  heart  the  real  government  is  right : 
it  is  only  a  necessary  policy  that  compels  them  to  act 
as  they  do.  They  are  rejoiced  if  Hector  Yyr  or  any 
one  else  will  fight  the  common  enemy,  if  he  will 
only  not  throw  the  odium  on  tliem" 

"  The  people  seem  to  think  a  great  deal  of  their 
Government,"  observed  Major  Paul.  "  When  I  was 
at  Athens  I  heard  little  else  talked  about." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Vyr,  with  a  smile  of  contempt ; 
'•  the  ridiculous  little  squabbles  of  their  politicians 
afford  them  a  never-ending  theme  for  dispute.  The 
Boule  supports  one  ministry  or  another  as  it  pleases, 
and  it  is  more  changeable  than  the  wind.  There 
have  been  as  many  as  fifty  revolutions  within  half  as 
many  years.  It  is  always  M.  Tricoupis  vs.  M.  Cou- 
mondouros,  or  JM.  Mpotzaroa  vs.  M.  Hikezetis —  one 
rival  vs.  another  always.  Politics,  which  in  other 
countries  forms  an  important  subject  of  thought  and 
talk,  has  degenerated  in  Greece  to  one  of  the  most 
trivial ;  it  is  scarcely  more  worthy  the  attention  of  a 
sensible  mind  than  the  common  gossip  of  a  country 
village — in  truth,  it  is  very  much  like  it.  Yet  the 
Greek  politicians  wonder  why  foreigners  arc  not  as 
deeply  interested  in  it  as  themselves.  Knowing  lit 
tle  of  the  ancient  glory  of  their  country,  except  as  a 
matter  for  empty  boasting,  they  cannot  understand 
why  the  enthusiasm  of  tourists  should  be  confined  to 
antiquities?" 


184  A   DEMIGOD. 

Here  was  an  opportunity  for  Major  Paul,  and  lie 
improved  it.  "Some  of  us  at  home  have  a  similar 
difficulty,"  he  said  ;  "we  cannot  understand  why  the 
enthusiasm  of  our  scholars  and  educators  should  be 
so  largely  confined  to  antiquities — as  it  is,  Mr.  Yyr, 
although  America  is  the  exact  opposite  of  Greece  in 
all  the  respects  you  have  named.  You  will  admit 
that  American  politics  and  European  politics  in  gen 
eral  are  something  above  the  gossip  of  a  country  vil 
lage  ;  yet  many  of  our  schools  and  colleges  seem  to 
think  nothing  is  worthy  of  their  attention  but  anti 
quity.  There  are  no  orators,  no  authors  to-day,  and 
there  have  been  none  since  the  time  of  Virgil  and 

o 

Cicero.  It  is  all  Greek  and  Latin,  Greek  and  Latin, 
until  we  practical  men  are  sick  with  disgust.  Mas 
todons  and  blue-bottles!  as  if  the  world  had  fallen 
into  its  dotage,  like  a  broken-down  old  man  who  can 
think  or  speak  of  nothing  but  the  great  things  ho 
did  when  he  was  a  boy !  I  believe  we  know  more, 
can  do  more,  think  better,  write  better,  speak  better, 
and  fight  better  to-day,  Mr.  Vyr,  than  any  past  gen 
eration  that  ever  crawled  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Crawled,  I  say,  sir,  for  we  are  the  only  generation 
that  ever  did  anything  else.  Great  George  Wash 
ington  !  to  think  of  puttering  over  a  Greek  accent 
when  there  are  stars  in  the  sky  and  living  kingdoms 
and  republics  on  earth !" 

Kow  there  were  few  things  which  amused  Hector 
Vyr  more  than  the  vigor  of  the  majors  verbal  ex 
pression.  His  highly  developed  intuition  had  almost 
instantly  divined  the  portly,  loud-voiced  American's 


THE   REASON    "  WHY-FORE.''  185 

true  character,  with  its  wealth  of  warm-heartedness 
mid  impulsiveness,  and  its  lack  of  real  strength.  He 
listened  to  the  stormy  tirades,  which  were  gradually 
resumed  as  their  acquaintance  ripened  into  familiari 
ty,  with  the  keen  enjoyment  of  a  naturalist  over  a 
new  specimen.  Nevertheless,  out  of  deference  to 
the  major's  diitour  propre,  he  usually  repressed  his 
mirth,  and  answered  with  the  respect  he  felt  due  to 
his  guest's  amiable  traits  and  relations  towards  him 
self,  but  more  especially  to  him  as  the  father  of  a  far 
stronger,  though  scarcely  less  impulsive,  daughter. 
So  now,  with  a  kindly  smile,  he  replied  : 

"  You  are  both  right  and  wrong,  Mr.  Paul,  as  I 
think.  As  a  whole,  the  race  of  man  has  greatly  im 
proved  since  the  days  of  antiquity.  We  must  admit, 
however,  that  in  language  and  art  we  have  degener 
ated  as  a  race  almost  as  much  as  the  Greek  nation 
lias  degenerated  in  all  respects  from  the  standard  of 
their  ancestors." 

"  Your  language  is  not  very  patriotic,  sir,"  said 
Griffin,  with  a  glance  at  Madeline. 

"  "Why-fore  is  it  not,  Mr.  Griffin  ?  I  speak  in  pure 
pity,  not  in  censure.  The  Greek  people  have  suf 
fered  from  great  calamities,  for  which  they  are  not 
to  be  blamed.  It  is  the  ages  of  Turkish  oppression 
that  have  reduced  them  to  their  present  level.  Now 
they  are  free,  and  I  believe  that  in  time  they  will  re 
bound  to  a  greater  height  than  they  have  ever  yet 
reached !  *  I  am  by  birth  a  Greek,  although  my 

*  Hector  Vyr's  prophecy  is  proving  true.     The  situation  in 


186  A   DEMIGOD. 

ancestors  represent  many  different  nations.  I  have 
lived  all  my  life  in  Greece,  I  am  grateful  for  what  1 
have  received,  and,  as  I  have  told  you,  I  try  to  make 
myself  of  use.  If  I  were  free  from  my  oath,  I 
would  do  what  one  man  could  towards  a  political  and 
social  reform.  But  I  am  not  only  a  Greek — I  am 
one  of  the  race  of  mankind.  The  world  is  more 
than  Greece ;  man  is  more  than  the  Greeks ;  time  is 
more  than  to-day — more  than  the  nineteenth  centu 
ry.  I  am  a  zealot,  a  visionary.  So  be  it." 

"  You  appear  to  have  very  definite  ideas  in  regard  to 
the  distant  future,"  remarked  Griffin.  "  How  do  you 
know  the  nineteenth  century  will  not  be  the  last  ?" 

Although  his  words  were  innocent  enough,  there 
was  an  ill-repressed  bitterness  in  the  tone  and  the 
look  which  he  threw  at  Madeline  that  could  not 
have  escaped  Yyr.  With  his  usual  serenity,  how 
ever,  the  latter  replied : 

Greece  is  better  to-day  than  ever  before  since  the  Revolution. 
The  flight  of  Otlio  and  the  accession  of  Georgias  were  inestima 
ble  blessings.  The  ancient  blood  is  once  more  stirring,  and  ev 
erywhere  energy  and  enterprise  are  showing  themselves.  The 
reclamation  of  the  vast  marshes  of  the  Morea  is  fast  advancing. 
Hundreds  of  villages  have  already  been  rebuilt,  and  many  roads 
have  been  constructed  since  1874.  Best  of  all  for  the  honor  of 
Greece,  she  has  practically  wiped  out  the  greatest  blot  on  her  es 
cutcheon — the  brigand.  After  the  capture  and  murder  of  Lord 
Muncastcr's  party  at  Oropos  near  Marathon,  in  1870,  aroused  by 
the  condemnation  of  the  civilized  world,  the  Hellenic  Govern 
ment  put  forth  its  best  efforts.  Directed  by  the  energetic  min 
ister,  Zaimas,  the  entire  army  went  against  the  treacherous  foe, 
and  since  then  scarcely  a  klepht  has  dared  to  show  his  head  near 
a  centre  of  population. 


THE   liEASON    "  WHY-FORE."  187 

"  How  do  you  know  tins  day  will  not  be  your  last  ? 
Yet  you  lay  your  plans  for  to-morrow  and  next  year 
and  years  afterwards,  precisely  as  if  you  were  sure  of 
them.  I  know  no  more  of  the  future  than  you  ;  but 
I  see  everywhere  in  the  organisms  around  me  the 
Creator's  plan.  Every  living  species  is  born,  grows 
to  maturity,  declines,  and  dies :  that  is  the  history  of 
an  individual  man,  and  I  believe  it  will  be  the  histo 
ry  of  the  race  of  man,  which,  as  yet,  is  only  in  its 
early  youth.  Many  thousand  generations,  I  think, 
must  come  and  go  before  it  will  reach  a  maturity  it 
has  never  yet  dreamed  of.  God  will  not  cut  the  best 
tree  in  his  garden  down  until  it  has  borne  its  rich 
fruit.  This,  Mr.  Griffin,  is  why-fore  I  do  not  believe 
the  nineteenth  century  will  be  the  last." 

The  last  gray  fringe  of  twilight  had  now  died  out 
above  the  ^gean ;  Orion  and  the  Dogs  had  reached 
their  maximum  brilliancy  in  the  moonless  sky ;  and 
the  mountains  had  become  mere  masses  of  unvary 
ing  blackness  against  the  horizon.  In  the  increasing 
crispness  of  the  air  the  voices  of  the  speakers  had 
become  more  and  more  distinct  and  resonant.  By 
a  natural  impulse  Madeline  began  to  sing  softly  to 
herself. 

"  Louder,  Madge !"  said  her  father,  and  all  but 
Griffin  warmly  seconded  the  invitation.  Without 
an  instant's  hesitation  she  began  Leonora's  little  song 
in  "  II  Trovatore," 

"  Tacca  la  noltc  placidd, 
E bclla  in  del  sereno." 


188  A   DEMIGOD. 

As  her  pure,  sweet  voice  poured  out  into  the  night 
air,  it  seemed  to  intensify  rather  than  to  disturb  the 
calmness  and  peace  that  reigned  around,  as  if  the  sil 
very  notes  made  harmony  with  the  voiceless  music 
of  the  stars.  Even  those  of  the  party  who  were 
familiar  with  her  singing  listened  entranced  as  they 
had  rarely  been  before ;  what,  then,  must  have  been 
the  effect  upon  Hector  Vyr  ?  lie  scarcely  breathed, 
but  sat,  with  face  bent  forward  and  lips  apart,  as  if 
fearful  of  losing  her  lightest  note.  When  the  vol 
ume  of  exquisite  sound  swelled  in 

"  Qtiando  suonar  per  Faere," 

he  left  his  seat,  unconsciously  advanced,  and  stood 
directly  before  her.  He  uttered  no  word,  however, 
until  she  had  finished.  Then  he  walked  twice  up 
and  down  the  veranda,  stopped  abruptly,  and  said,  in 
tones  thrilling  with  suppressed  emotion, 

"My  friends,  I  never  before  in  my  life  heard  a 
woman  sing.  My  mother  could  play  very  sweetly 
upon  instruments  a  few  years  ago,  but  she  could  not 
sing.  I  have  often  read  of  female  voices,  and  I 

O  ' 

thought  I  could  imagine  what  they  were  like;  but 
my  idea  was  no  more  like  what  I  have  just  heard 
than  a  blind  man's  conception  of  light  is  like  light 
itself.  Miss  Paul,  I  thank  you  from  my  heart. 
Would  it  be  asking  too  much  if  I  should  ask  you 
to— to— " 

"  Sing  again  ?" 

"  Oh  yes  !  will  you,  Miss  Paul  2" 

She  sang  two  more  songs,  and  then  laughingly  re- 


THE  REASON   "WHY-FORE."  189 

fused  to  gratify  him  further,  lest  the  charm  of  nov 
elty  should  be  too  soon  dispelled. 

Through  it  all  Griffin  had  not  spoken  a  word. 

The  next  time  Vyr  saw  the  major  alone,  he  asked 
what  could  be  the  trouble  with  Mr.  Griffin.  "Was  he 
ill?  Major  Paul  tried  to  put  him  off.  Robert  was 
subject  to  occasional  fits  of  depression ;  in  fact,  to 
tell  the  truth,  he  suspected  the  poor  boy  was  a  trifle 
homesick,  etc. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  him,"  Vyr  replied,  fixing  his 
frank,  inquiring  eye  upon  the  major's  averted  face. 
"  He  loves  your  daughter,  does  he  not  ?" 

"  Ye — 2/&S,"  said  Major  Paul,  explosively.  "  Un 
lucky  fellow,  I  believe  he  does." 

"Do  you  not  know  that  he  does?" 

"lie  has  said  as  much  to  me." 

"Why,  then,  did  you  say  you  simply  believed?" 

"  I — I —  Bless  my  soul,  Mr,  Vyr,  I  believe  what  I 
know, don't  I?"  desperately. 

*  Ah  yes.  I  shall  learn  English  by-and-by.  Does 
your  daughter  love  him  too?" 

"  Who  can  tell  ?     Women  are  a  great  mystery." 

"  She  does  not  say  whether  she  loves  him  or  not  ?" 

"  Oh,  she  says  she  doesn't." 

"Do  you  not  believe  your  daughter's  word,  Mr. 
Paul?" 

The  poor  father  quailed  under  the  look  and  tone 
with  which  this  home-question  was  asked.  He  lit  a 
match  and  applied  it  to  his  cigar — although  it  was 
still  burning— and  finally  replied, 

"  You  do  not  understand  American  girls,  Mr.  Vyr. 


190  A  DEMIGOIX 

On  this  subject  I  do  not  think  they  understand  them 
selves.  At  any  rate,  they  do  not  always  feel  com 
pelled  to  reveal  their  feelings — particularly  to  a  third 
party." 

"  And  so,"  rejoined  Vyr,  with  an  air  of  astonish 
ment,  "to  avoid  revealing  their  feelings,  they  some 
times  tell  lies  ?" 

Major  Paul  laughed.  "  That  is  a  very  strong  way 
of  putting  it,"  he  said. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  strong  way  ?'  Is  it  not 
the  true  way?  If  I  should  put  it  in  a  weak  way, 
would  it  not  mean  the  same  thing  ?  I  ask  you  again, 
Mr.  Paul,  do  young  women  think  it  is  right  to  tell 
lies  to  avoid  revealing  their  feelings  ?" 

We  have  all  been  pushed  in  precisely  this  way 
by  bright,  persistent  children,  whose  honest,  inquir 
ing  eyes  have  made  us  feel  ashamed  of  our  own  want 
of  frankness.  Add  to  the  simple-hearted  persistence 
of  a  child  the  power  of  presence  and  the  penetrating 
vision  of  the  highly  developed  man  at  his  prime,  and 
we  have  some  notion  of  the  poor  major's  embarrass 
ment. 

"  You  follow  me  up  very  closely,  sir,"  he  said,  his 
face  growing  hot.  "  I — I — perhaps  they  think  third 
parties  have  no  right  to  pry  into  their  secret  feel 
ings." 

"  Ah !  then  they  should  say  so.  And  if  you  do 
not  wish  to  answer  my  questions,  my  friend,  you 
should  &ay  so  too." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  answering  your  questions. 
Perhaps  you  have  a  right  to  ask  them,  sir  2"  turning 


THE   REASON  "  WHY-FORE."  191 

with  unwonted  boldness  and  spirit  to  the  inquisitor. 
Had  the  latter  been  any  other  than  Hector  Vyr,  the 
proud  American  would  have  roused  himself  long  be 
fore.  So  complete  had  been  his  subjection  to  that 
prodigious  force  of  character,  that  he  had  usually 
submitted,  without  resentment  or  conscious  humilia 
tion,  to  things  which,  from  any  other  source,  would 
have  called  forth  his  stormiest  indignation.  If  he 
thought  of  them  at  all,  he  attributed  them  to  the 
ascetic's  phenomenal  simplicity  of  character  and  his 
ignorance  of  the  world.  In  this  he  was  partially 
right ;  for  with  rare  exceptions  no  one  could  be 
more  innocent  of  intentional  offence  than  Hector 
Vyr.  But,  as  we  have  seen,  the  major  did  occasion 
ally  bustle  up.  "  Perhaps  you  have  a  right  to  ask 
these  questions  of  me,  sir  ?"  he  repeated.  "  I  pre 
sume  that  is  a  proper  question  for  me  to  ask." 

"  Have  I  not  the  right  to  ask  any  question  I  wish, 
since  I  do  not  compel  you  to  answer  unless  you 
wish  ?"  Vyr  returned,  opening  wide  his  great  eyes. 
With  all  his  reading  and  study,  with  all  his  delicate 
receptivity,  he  had  utterly  failed  thus  far  to  under 
stand  some  of  the  most  obvious  rules  of  human  in 
tercourse.  His  unflawed  honesty  of  soul  was  his 
great  stumbling-block  in  the  acquisition  of  this  most 
desirable  accomplishment.  Receiving  no  answer,  he 
went  on,  presently :  "  Mr.  Paul,  I  do  not  believe  your 
daughter  tells  lies.  If  she  has  said  she  does  not  love 
this  young  man,  I  know  that  she  does  not  love  him." 
Then  he  added,  calmly,  "  Is  it  your  wish  that  she 
Bhould,  Mr.  Paul?" 
13 


192  A   DEMIGOD. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  major,  throwing  his  reserve 
to  the  winds,  "  that  has  been  my  hope.  Griffin  has 
a  good  many  faults,  it  is  true ;  he  is  not  her  equal, 
by  any  means,  in  mind  or  character,  but  he  is  de 
voted  to  her,  and  I  have  no  doubt  would  make  her 
happy  if  she  only  would  think  so.  He  is  well 
thought  of  at  home,  occupies  a  good  position,  that  is, 
in  social  and  business  circles,  and  will  be  amply  able 
to  give  her  any  and  every  thing  she  can  wish.  To 
tell  the  truth,  Mr.  Yyr,  that  is  the  principal  reason 
why  I  took  them  together  on  this  tour." 

The  major's  eyes  had  not  been  for  an  instant  on 
his  listener  during  the  whole  of  this  speech,  else  he 
could  no  longer  have  doubted  the  right  or  motive  of 
Vyr's  questioning. 

"But  your  plan  has  failed,"  replied  Vyr,  with  ir 
repressible  eagerness.  "  She  does  not  love  him,  she 
never  can,  he  is  too  far,  far  beneath  her.  Mr.  Paul, 
I  promised  you  that  before  you  went  from  me  I 
would  explain  to  you  the  reason  why-fore  I  told  you 
so  many  things  about  myself  and  my  fathers.  The 
time  has  come — /love  your  daughter." 


MAJOll   PAUL   ASTONISUES   UIMSELF.  193 


XIY. 

MAJOR    PAUL    ASTONISHES    HIMSELF. 

ALTHOUGH  almost  constantly  in  Madeline's  society, 
Griffin  was  not  foolish  nor  weak  enough  to  weary 
her  with  petty  verbal  importunity.  He  might  as 
well,  however,  for  he  made  no  attempt  to  disguise 
his  unhappiness ;  he  indulged  in  frequent  fits  of  ill- 
humor  and  moody  abstraction,  to  which  pity  and 
sorrow  made  her  charitable.  She  tried  every  means 
in  her  power  to  divert  his  thoughts  and  restore  him 
to  cheerfulness.  At  last  her  long-continued  forbear 
ance  yielded,  which,  of  course,  was  the  surest  way 
of  bringing  up  the  subject  most  constantly  in  his 
mind ;  for  there  is  nothing  like  the  effervescing  wine 
of  a  good,  sharp  quarrel  to  loosen  the  tongue. 

It  was  the  very  day  after  the  scene  recorded  at 
the  close  of  the  last  chapter.  The  major  had  thus 
far  kept  his  own  counsel ;  nevertheless  something — a 
bird  in  the  air — had  made  the  unhappy  lover  still 
more  fractious  and  despairing  than  ever.  Madeline 
had  been  bantering  him  in  her  best-natured  vein ; 
she  had  sung  to  him,  read  to  him,  chatted  to  him,  all 
without  avail.  "  Come,  Eobert,"  she  said,  at  length, 
"  do  throw  off  this  everlasting  gloom  ;  it  is  getting 
utterly  intolerable.  You  are  worse  than  an  immortal 
nightmare.  You  never  seem  to  think  of  your  good- 


194  A  DEMIGOD. 

fortune.  Think  where  yon  were  three  weeks  ago, 
and  where  you  are  now.  Try  to  feel  a  little  decent 
gratitude  to  Heaven  and  to — to — 

AVith  jealous  fury  Griffin  grasped  at  her  momen 
tary  hesitation.  "  You  dare  not  utter  his  name  to 
me,"  he  said,  pointing  his  long  finger  and  glaring  at 
her  from  under  his  black  brows.  "  You  dare  not 
utter  his  name — but  your  cheeks  speak  for  you." 

The  glow  which  had  suddenly  risen  in  her  face 
deepened  to  vivid  scarlet. 

"Now"  he  cried,  pursuing  the  advantage  he  had 
gained  in  such  unmanly  fashion,  "  will  you  tell  me 
you  don't  love  him  ?" 

In  an  instant  her  downcast  eyes  were  lifted  in  fiery 
anger.  He  saw  the  fatal  mistake  he  had  made,  fell 
on  his  knees,  and  besought  her  forgiveness. 

She  turned  away  scornfully. 

"Oh,  Madeline!— " 

"  Not  a  word  till  you  are  sane  enough  to  stand  on 
your  feet  at  least." 

This  brought  him  to  his  senses  for  a  moment.  He 
rose,  and  began  in  a  low,  pathetic  tone  to  bewail  his 
fate.  But  soon  his  voice  became  louder  and  his 
utterance  more  rapid.  Deaf  to  her  replies,  whether 
of  anger  or  entreaty,  he  raved  on :  He  loved  her 
with  the  honest  love  of  a  natural  man.  Insignificant 
as  she  thought  him,  he  claimed  to  be  the  peer  of  any 
man — lie  did  not  aspire  to  compete  with  gods  or 
devils.  No  sensible  woman  with  the  flesh  and  blood 
of  the  nineteenth  century  could  ask  for  more.  He 
loved  her,  and  would  make  her  happy  in  a  home 


MAJOR   PAUL   ASTONISHES   HIMSELF.  195 

among  the  children  of  men — in  her  own  country  and 
among  her  own  kindred. 

( Kercome  by  her  compassion  for  his  hopeless  love, 
her  indignation  at  his  merciless  interpretation  of  her 
slight  hesitation  and  her  blushing  —  who  wouldn't 
change  color,  so  suddenly  and  cruelly  arraigned  ? — 
her  mortification  at  his  repeated  innuendoes — over 
come  by  these  conflicting  emotions,  she  burst  into 
a  violent  fit  of  weeping,  hysterically  lamenting  that 
she  had  ever  left  her  home  in  Boston.  Nothing 
would  have  induced  her  to  do  so  if  she  only  could 
have  foreseen.  They  had  been  such  good  friends  for 
so  many  years,  with  nothing  of  this  sort — and  now  ! 
Oh,  if  she  could  only  get  away — anywhere  from  that 
place — home  best  of  all. 

Griffin  eagerly  caught  at  her  last  words.  Get 
away  ?  of  course  she  could — that  very  day — that  very 
hour,  lie  knew  the  way  to  MikroMaina,  whence 
they  could  return  to  Athens  as  they  had  come. 

She  was  hardly  prepared  to  be  so  promptly  taken 
at  her  word.  Her  dilemma,  with  the  tears  she  had 
shed,  cleared  her  brain  and  restored  her  self-con 
trol.  She  would  do  nothing  so  foolishly  heroic. 
She  would  talk  with  her  father,  and  see  what  }><••  said 
about  their  all  going  away  together.  "With  this 
promise  Griffin  was  forced  to  be  content,  and  they 
separated  on  better  terms  than  had  appeared  possible 
an  hour  before. 

While  Madeline  was  waiting  for  an  opportunity 
to  redeem  her  promise,  she  became  conscious  of  a 
growing  burden  upon  her  spirits,  an  undefined  some- 


196  A  DEMIGOD. 

tiling  that  stilled  her  inclination  to  sing  and  laugh, 
and  made  her  sigh  instead.  She  tried  to  think  it 
was  pity  for  Robert,  regret  at  their  angry  words, 
exhaustion  from  excitement,  together  with  a  perfectly 
natural  reaction  from  the  too  great  happiness  of  the 
past  three  weeks — the  afternoon  cloud  which  the  too 
bright  sun  of  the  morning  had  brought. 

As  she  thought  more  and  more  of  going  away,  the 
weight  upon  her  spirit  grew  heavier.  She  felt  that 
she  was  under  a  spell  too  potent  for  her  to  break,  a 
spell,  she  argued  to  herself,  cast,  not  alone  by  a  mere 
personality,  but  by  the  thrilling  romance  of  past 
events  and  present  environment,  harbored  with  her 
dearest  friends  in  a  refuge  so  near  the  scene  of  their 
late  mortal  peril,  and  yet  perfectly  safe,  among  sur 
roundings  so  wildly  grand,  whose  master  was  an  In 
telligence  so  lofty,  a  host  so  benignant,  a  protector 
so  powerful.  Like  the  enthralled  reader  of  a  tale, 
she  felt  that  she  could  not  lay  down  the  volume  till 
the  last  page  was  read. 

While  she  sat  thus  absorbed  one  morning  at  the 
window  of  her  bedroom,  her  chin  resting  on  her 
hand,  her  aunt  entered. 

"  Oh,  Madeline,"  Miss  Wellington  exclaimed,  rapt 
urously,  "you  ought  to  have  come  with  me  this 
morning.  I  have  found  the  loveliest  walk  you  ever 
saw  in  your  life !" 

"  I  know,  aunty,  everything  is  beautiful  here.  But 
do  you  think  we  ought  to  stay  any  longer  ?" 

"  Why — I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  Under  any  oth 
er  circumstances,  you  know,  my  dear — Mr.  Vyr  and 


MAJOR   PAUL   ASTONISHES   HIMSELF.  197 

his  mother  being  total  strangers  before  we  came — 
but  they  both  seem  so  anxious  that  we  should  stay, 
particularly  Mr.  Vyr — he  looks  so  dejected,  so  utter 
ly  miserable  whenever  any  one  of  us  hints  at  going 
— with  those  great  soft  eyes  of  his,  that  tell  every 
thing  so  plainly — that  I  really  think,  Madeline — 
However,  that  is  a  matter  for  your  father  to  decide," 
and  she  began  to  take  off  her  hat  and  gloves. 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Madeline,  oracularly.  "  But 
you  know  how  generous  and  democratic  papa  is.  lie 
makes  powerful  speeches  for  the  affirmative  or  nega 
tive,  but  he  always  does  just  as  the  majority  vote." 

Aunt  Eliza  thought. 

"We  are  evidently  conferring  at  least  as  much 
pleasure  as  we  are  receiving,"  she  said,  presently. 
"  It  is  not  often,  you  know,  that  they  have  an  oppor 
tunity  to  see  and  talk  with  civilized  people.  And  he 
is  making  such  wonderful  improvement  in  his  man 
ners  and  speech — did  you  ever  see  any  one  learn  so 
fast  as  he  is  learning  English  ?" 

"  It  certainly  is  wonderful,"  assented  Madeline. 

11 1  really  think,  my  dear,  that  it  is  our  duty  to 
stay  a  little  longer,  and  give  them  the  benefit  of  our 
society.  It  is  little  enough  we  can  do,  at  best,  to  show 
our  gratitude.  Think  what  we  owe  him,  Madeline." 

"  Should  we  seem  ungrateful  if  we  refused  to 
stay?"  Madeline  asked,  pensively.  "I  wouldn't  do 
anything  ungrateful  for  the  world  ;  and  yet  I — I — • 
Robert  is  very  anxious  to  go." 

"  Oh,  he  is,  is  he  ?"  returned  Aunt  Eliza,  with  a 
laugh.  "  Well,  it  is  very  easy  to  understand  that" 


198  A  DEMIGOD. 

"  Has  lie  —  has  he  said  any  tiling  to  you  ?"  a  hot 
flush  mounting  to  her  brow. 

"  I  should  think  lie  had.  lie  thinks  we  are  act 
ing  very  improperly;  that  we  are  making  ourselves 
ridiculous,  to  say  the  least,  by  making  so  long  a  visit 
to  this  hermit  in  this  out-of-the-way  place ;  that  it  is 
a  poor  way  to  return  the  favor  he  did  us,  to  impose 
so  long  upon  his  hospitality.  But  that's  all  non 
sense — /  see  what  the  real  trouble  is,  if  you  or  your 
father  do  not.  He's  afraid  of  Mr.  Vyr's — influence 
over  you,  Madeline.  In  other  words,  the  poor  boy 
is  jealous.  There,  there,  you  needn't  look  so  terribly 
angry.  I  didn't  mean  any  harm.  I  didn't  say  he 
had  any  real  occasion,  did  I?  To  tell  the  truth,  I'm 
afraid  of  Mr.  Vyr's  influence  over  myself,  over  us 
all.  He's  such  a  wonderful  character,  so  overmaster 
ing,  that  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  we  should  all  become 
his  slaves  if  we  remained  here  long  enough." 

"  Not  /,"  retorted  Madeline,  raising  her  head  proud 
ly.  "  What  right  have  you  to  say  such  things  ?  No 
one  could  be  more  kind  and  considerate.  He  doesn't 
understand  all  our  forms,  but  his  occasional  little  rude 
nesses  are  the  rudenesses  of  honesty  —  grand,  man 
ly  honesty  and  power.  He  cannot  handle  such  ten 
der  creatures  as  we  are  without  sometimes  hurting 
our  delicate  sensibilities — but  he  never  means  to 
hurt  us,  aunty." 

"No,  I  suppose  not—you  least  of  all.  Be  careful, 
my  dear.  You  are  a  strong  little  thing,  the  dear 
knows,  but  he  is  vastly  stronger." 

"Be  careful  of  what?"  burst  forth  Madeline,  petu- 


MAJOR   PAUL   ASTONISHES   HIMSELF.  199 

lantly.  "  What  have  I  done,  what  lias  lie  done,  that 
I  should  be  subjected  to  such  humiliating  looks  and 
speeches  ?  You  and  Robert  and  everybody  seem  bent 
on—  I  won't  stay  here  another  day.  I  promised 
Robert  I  would  ask  papa  to  go,  and  I  am  going  to 
find  him  this  minute." 

"  Perhaps  that's  the  best  thing  you  can  do,  my 
dear,"  returned  Aunt  Eliza,  placidly.  Then,  as  Made 
line  stood  irresolutely  playing  with  the  door-knob, 
"  You  might  as  well  wait  until  you  are  calmer.  Don't 
be  offended  with  me,  at  any  rate;  I  only  spoke  as  I 
did  for  your  best  good.  I  thought  you  praised  Mr. 
Vyr  rather  warmly ;  and  you  talked  as  if  you  really 
wanted  to  stay  here." 

"That  was  because  I  am  enjoying  the  place  so 
much,"  replied  Madeline,  with  pretty  hesitation ; 
'-and  —  and  —  you  said  yourself  that  we  should  be 
ungrateful  to  leave — when  ho  is  so  anxious  that  we 
should  remain." 

"  Still,"  returned  Miss  Wellington,  with  decision, 
"  I  am  afraid  of  Mr.  Vyr's  power  over  us.  Don't 
you  see  how  your  papa  yields  to  him,  and  follows 
him  around  like  a  child  ?  If  any  one  else  should  take 
such  liberties  with  Major  Paul  as  Mr.  Vyr  does  — 
innocently  enough,  I'll  admit — how  do  you  suppose 
he  would  bear  it  (  I  confess,  I  cannot  understand 
the  secret  of  this  man's  power.  He  certainly  makes 
no  effort  to  control  us." 

"/understand  it,"  said  Madeline,  her  heart  swell 
ing  with  enthusiastic  pride,  for  which  the  next  mo 
ment  she  was  covered  with  confusion.  "  It  has  been 


200  A  DEMIGOD. 

handed  down  to  him  from  generation  to  generation, 
like  his  superb  courage  and — 

"  If  he  were  reserved  and  silently  dignified,"  Aunt 
Eliza  went  on,  without  noticing  Madeline's  embar 
rassment,  "  I  should  understand  it  better ;  but  he  is 
so  perfectly  frank  and  unrestrained,  he  always  speaks 
BO  freely  of  himself,  one  would  suppose  that  would 
relax  his  power  over  others ;  it  usually  does.  I  do 
think  he  is  the  most  remarkable  example  of  what 
they  call  '  personal  magnetism '  I  ever  saw ;  don't 
you  2" 

"  If  we  are  all  in  such  danger,"  replied  Madeline, 
with  a  demure  smile,  "  we'd  better  escape  while  we 
can.  I'm  calm  enough  now,  you  see,  aunty,  so  I'm 
going  to  find  papa,  and  beg  him  to  flee  at  once  from 
this  moral  and  intellectual  cuttle-fish." 

She  ran  down  to  the  veranda,  where  the  major  was 
usually  to  be  found  at  that  time  of  day  engaged  in 
reading  or  meditation.  Not  finding  him  there,  she 
started  for  the  cliff,  another  of  his  favorite  resorts. 
She  had  just  reached  the  base,  when  a  voice  fell  on 
her  ear  which  arrested  her  steps  and  sent  a  cloud  of 
color  to  her  cheek.  It  was  at  a  considerable  distance, 
but  so  clear  and  still  was  the  air  that  she  could  hear 
every  syllable  with  perfect  distinctness — 

"  Tacea  la,  notte  placida, 
E  bella  in  del  sereno; 
La  luna  il  visa  argenteo 
Mostrava  licto  a  pieno  !" 

Loud  and  clear  as  a  clarion  came  the  notes,  yet 
mellow  and  full  of  tender  sensibility.  Only  one  chest 


MAJOR   PAUL   ASTONISHES   HIMSELF.  201 

she  knew  of  could  send  forth  such  sounds,  so  power 
ful,  yet  so  sweet — 

"  Quando  suonar  per  I'acrc, 
Infino  allor  si  muto, 
Dolci  ii'iidiro  e  flclili, 
Gli  accordi  d'un  Unto, 
E  versi  inelanconici, 
U/i  trovator  cantb." 

Every  word  and  note  just  as  she  had  sung  them 
that  night  on  the  veranda  ! 

She  listened  till  the  sounds  died  away,  then  she 
slowly  went  up  the  ascent,  her  lips  parted  in  a  happy 
smile. 

"  What  a  voice !"  she  thought  — "  and  what  a 
memory!  He  said  he  never  heard  a  woman  sing 
before.  I  suppose  he  never  saw  an  American  girl 
before.  I  must  be  almost  as  great  a  curiosity  to  him 
as  he  is  to  me.  I  wonder  whether  he  altogether — 
approves  of  me." 

As  she  went  on  up  the  ascent,  thinking  upon  this 
profound  problem,  it  must  be  confessed  she  was  not 
conscious  of  any  very  harassing  doubts  as  to  its 
proper  solution.  At  the  top  of  the  cliff  she  found 
her  father,  to  whom  she  immediately  communicated 
her  errand.  I  suspect,  however,  that  her  pleading 
lacked  something  of  its  wonted  persuasiveness,  for, 
contrary  to  its  usual  result,  it  was  fruitless.  The 
major,  ordinarily  so  plastic,  was  for  once  actually 
immovable. 

Go  away?  what,  when  Yyr  wanted  him  to  stay? 
Not  if  he  knew  it.  In  any  other  case  he  should  un- 


202  A   DEMIGOD. 

dcrstand,  of  course,  that  it  was  nothing  but  empty 
politeness ;  but  when  Hector  Yyr  said  a  tiling,  it  was 
so — if  it  was  only  "Good-morning." 

With  a  long  face  Madeline  reported  her  defeat  to 
Robert  Griffin.  He  angrily  accused  her  of  purpose 
ly  failing ;  she  had  not  half  tried ;  it  was  only  neces 
sary  to  get  her  father  to  scold  a  little  more,  and  the 
thing  was  done.  A  little  conscience-smitten,  she  re 
ceived  his  reproaches  meekly,  and  proposed  that  they 
should  try  the  effect  of  their  united  powers  of  per 
suasion.  But  for  some  reason  or  other  even  these 
failed.  Aunt  Eliza  was  then  induced  to  add  the 
weight  of  her  influence ;  still  with  no  result.  The 
major  scolded  enough  to  satisfy  even  Griffin,  but, 
strange  to  say,  his  determination  was  not  a  whit  un 
dermined  thereby.  They  might  as  well  hold  their 
tongues,  he  said,  at  last ;  not  one  of  them  knew  what 
they  were  talking  about.  Then  in  a  dogged  way  he 
muttered,  "  Griffin  may  go  to-day  if  he  wants  to ; 
the  rest  of  us  will  follow  when  I  think  proper." 
With  which  he  stalked  away. 

Griffin  pursued  him  in  a  great  heat.  "  Well,  Uncle 
Warren,  what  am  I  to  understand  by  that  ?" 

"  lley  ?  what  ?  You're  your  own  master,  aren't 
you  ?  If  you  want  to  go,  /can't  prevent  you.  But, 
by  the  Little  Billy  Peterson !  I  propose  to  be  mas 
ter  in  my  own  family  for  once,  if  I  never  was  be 
fore  !" 

"  You  want  to  drive  me  off  the  field,  do  you  ?" 
said  Griffin,  growing  white. 

"  Don't  talk  trash.     You  have  a  fair  field.     Go  or 


GRIFFIN   RETURNS.  203 

stay,  as  you  please.  If  you  want  my  advice,  I'd  ad 
vise  you  to  stay"  And  he  again  turned  his  back. 

"Without  more  ado,  Griffin  returned  to  Madeline, 
whom  he  found  alone.  He  told  her  that  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  leave  the  next  morning,  and 
besought  her  again  and  again  to  accompany  him. 
She  persistently  refused,  at  first  with  indignation, 
finally  with  tears. 

k%  Well,  then,"  said  he,  fiercely,  "  good-by,  Made 
line — and  may  God  forgive  you,  for  I  never  shall ! 
But,"  he  added,  "I shall  return.''' 


XV. 

GRIFFIN    RETURNS. 

Miss  WELLINGTON  somewhat  exaggerated  both  her 
own  discomfort  in  the  presence  of  her  host  and  the 
major's  subserviency.  It  remained  true,  neverthe 
less,  that,  although  every  effort  was  apparently  made 
to  put  them  at  their  ease,  they  were  oppressed  with 
an  increasing  sense  of  their  own  inferiority,  and  were, 
therefore,  under  a  constant  strain  to  appear  at  their 
best,  which  in  time  became  very  wearisome.  At  each 
observation  made  by  one,  the  other  furtively  scanned 
Vyr's  face  for  some  little  sign  of  disapproval  or  even 
contempt.  Nothing  of  the  kind  ever  appeared.  On 
the  contrary,  he  always  listened  with  the  most  kind 
ly  interest,  and  replied  with  a  fulness  and  a  simplic 
ity  which  should  have  precluded  all  suspicion  of 


204  A  DEMIGOD. 

mental  reservation.  Perhaps  it  was  this  very  unflag 
ging  attentiveness  that  made  them  feel  as  if  they 
were  being  continually  weighed  in  the  balance — as  if 
those  luminous  eyes  were  microscopic  lenses,  through 
which  they  were  inspected  with  unsparing  criticism. 

Madeline  alone  felt  no  discomfort  under  this  moral 
mastery.  She  rather  gloried  in  it :  to  her  there  was 
an  exquisite  pleasure  in  the  contemplation  of  a  nature 
so  lordly.  She  felt  the  loyal  thrill  of  hero-worship 
which  women  so  often  feel  in  a  lesser  degree  for 
men  far  beneatli  them  in  reality,  but  whom  they  have 
idealized — whose  grossness  they  have  taken  for  gran 
deur,  whose  brutality  they  have  taken  for  power.  In 
her  mute  homage  she  felt  no  sense  of  abasement. 
She  pictured  to  herself  a  fitting  mate  for  this  natural 
monarch,  a  soul  as  queenly  as  his  was  kingly,  a  face 
and  form  as  divinely  beautiful  as  his  were  majestic, 
an  ideal  woman,  the  equal  and  complement  of  this 
ideal  man. 

In  these  reveries,  if  her  thoughts  ever  reverted  to 
herself,  it  was  only  to  contrast  herself  with  the  peer 
less  creation  of  her  fancy,  and  to  blush  at  the  humili 
ation  to  which  her  friends  had  so  inconsiderately  or 
cruelly  subjected  her.  More  definitely  than  this  she 
scarcely  thought.  If  she  had  been  conscious  of  a  re 
sponse  within  her  heart  to  their  accusations  and  in 
nuendoes,  though  never  so  slight  and  timid,  she  would 
at  once  have  crushed  it  back  with  terror.  She  could 
indulge  for  a  while  her  wonder  and  admiration  for  this 
human  prodigy,  as  she  had  basked  in  the  glories  of 
the  Parthenon;  and  then  —  satisfied  and  ennobled— 


GRIFFIN   RETURNS.  205 

return  to  America,  where,  perhaps,  in  due  time  she 
might  mate  with  one  of  her  own  kind,  to  whom  she 
would  relate  all  her  wonderful  adventures.  Poor 
Cousin  Robert ! 

One  afternoon,  a  few  days  after  Griffin  had  taken 
his  abrupt  departure,  she  was  swinging  in  a  hammock 
among  the  trees  at  a  little  distance  from  the  house. 
She  had,  of  late,  taken  to  wearing  the  picturesque 
Greek  costume,  partly,  I  suppose,  because  she  thought 
it  would  please  her  entertainers,  and  partly  because 
she  liked  to  be  herself  in  harmony  with  her  surround 
ings  :  she  liked  to  view  herself  objectively,  as  a  part 
of  the  landscape.  Upon  her  head  she  wore  a  fez 
with  a  long  blue  tassel,  beneath  which  her  abundant 
hair  was  twisted  in  a  classical  knot ;  a  jacket  of  crim 
son  velvet  richly  embroidered  with  gold  fitted  closely 
her  superb  figure ;  her  petticoat  was  of  lustrous  golden 
silk,  while  her  feet  were  encased  in  slippers  of  crim 
son  velvet  embroidered  like  her  jacket. 

She  was  alternately  reading  and  thinking,  when 
suddenly  a  shadow  fell  across  her  page.  She  looked 
up,  and  beheld  Hector  Yyr  gravely  contemplating 
her.  His  eyes  did  not  fall  nor  waver,  but  remained 
fixed  with  an  intentncss  which  caused  her  to  drop 
her  own  and  uneasily  to  change  her  position,  while 
the  rosy  cloud  deepened  on  her  cheek. 

"  I  see  I  have  been  rude  again,"  he  said,  smiling. 
"I  did  not  know  it.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  learn 
to  be  like  your  American  gentlemen.  I  was  looking 
at  you  that  I  might  read  your  thoughts  in  your  eyes; 
I  wished  to  know  whether  they  were  happy  or  sad — 


203  A  DEMIGOD. 

whether  they  were  upon  what  yon  have  been  read 
ing,  or  upon  yourself  and  your  home  so  many  miles 
away." 

"And  what  is  your  decision,  Mr.  Yyr?"  Madeline 
asked,  recovering  her  equanimity. 

"I  do  not  think  they  are  sad.  They  were  very 
busy  until  I  broke  in  upon  them.  If  I  had  been  a 
klepht  I  could  have  seized  you  and  carried  you  off 
without  your  knowing  it."  And  he  laughed  softly 
and  musically. 

"]STot  while  Mr.  Yyr  was  within  hearing,"  retorted 
Madeline,  looking  among  the  trees  with  a  little  shud 
der. 

"  Ah,  Madeline  Paul,  what  joy  it  would  be  to  save 
you !"  he  said,  looking  at  her  in  a  kind  of  rapture. 

"Thank  you,"  she  replied,  briskly;  "once  is  quite 
enough  to  satisfy  me.  If  you  could  read  my  thoughts 
correctly,  Mr.  Yyr,  you  would  have  seen  that  that 
was  the  very  thing  which  was  occupying  them  when 
you  interrupted  them." 

"  Then  I  am  glad  I  interrupted  them.  You  must 
not  think  so  much  upon  the  past,  Madeline ;  you 
must  think  upon  the  present,  as  I  do.  It  is  a  much 
pleasanter  theme." 

"  It  is  very  pleasant,"  assented  Madeline ;  "  but  I 
like  to  think  of  the  past,  too,  and  contrast  it  with  the 
present.  By-gone  dangers  only  enhance  the  happi 
ness  of  present  safety — 

'•' '  Rich  the  treasure, 

Sweet  the  pleasure, 
Sweet  the  pleasure  after  pam.' 


GRIFFIN   RETURNS.  207 

I  have  been  thinking  how  -wonderfully  and  myste 
riously  your  powerful  succor  came  to  us  just  after  I 
had  prayed  for  it.  It  seems  certain  that  God  heard 
my  prayer  and  sent  an  immediate  answer.  Don't 
you  believe  it,  Mr.  Vyr  2" 

Yyr  smiled.  Then,  after  a  thoughtful  pause,  he 
answered,  "  There  is  in  my  veins  the  blood  of  an  im 
aginative  race — fond  of  the  supernatural.  I  inherit 
the  tendency  to  see  divinity  in  everything  around 
me — events  controlled  by  unseen  hands.  But  I  rec 
ognize  the  vastness  of  the  universe,  on  whose  throne 
sits  the  One  Supreme,  and  the  insignificance — nay, 
the  utter  nothingness — of  our  planet,  with  all  it  con 
tains,  in  comparison." 

" '  Not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground  without  His 
notice,' "  said  Madeline. 

"Ah,  that  is  woman's  beautiful  faith." 

"It  is  not  an  unreasoning  faith,"  she  protested. 
4>  That  which  took  place  on  that  day  could  not 
have  happened  by  mere  accident.  It  must  have 
been  the  act  of  a  pitying,  all-merciful  Father,  whose 
messenger  you  were.  I  can  never  believe  other 
wise.  Simple  gratitude  would  forbid,  if  nothing 
else." 

"  That  does  more  credit  to  your  heart  than  to  your 
philosophy,"  replied  Vyr,  with  another  smile.  "  But 
who  can  say,  after  all,  that  you  are  wrong  ?  Man's 
boasted  philosophy  is  doubtless  a  far  less  stable  struct 
ure  than  he  thinks  it.  I  wonder  if  He  who  knows 
all  truth  holds  in  derision  the  conclusions  we  so 
gravely  form— our  ascription  of  absolute  supremacy, 
14 


208  A  DEMIGOD. 

for  example,  to  what  we  call  Natural  Law,  because 
we  have  never  seen  it  superseded." 

"  But  you  and  I  have  both  seen  it  superseded,  have 
we  not  ?"  asked  Madeline,  eagerly. 

"  Who  knows  ?  People  in  great  distress  or  dan 
ger  almost  always  pray  for  deliverance.  Some 
times  deliverance  comes  —  sometimes  not.  Mere 
chance  would  bring  it  sometimes.  Then,  of  course, 
it  is  but  natural  to  attribute  it  to  divine  interposi 
tion." 

Seeing  the  look  of  dismay  which  this  cold  philoso 
phy  cast  over  her  face,  he  went  on  quickly  : 

"  But,  as  I  said,  who  knows  ?  Men  who  think  their 
reason  infallible  are  often  guilty  of  the  grossest  un 
reason.  Only  the  absolute  atheist  can  logically  deny 
the  possibility  of  divine  intervention.  He  who  writes 
of  an  '  unknowable '  Source  of  all  things  writes  ab 
surdly  when  he  says  that  He  never  can  and  never 
does  perform  special  acts  in  the  universe  He  has 
made.  I  questioned  only  our  right  to  decide  when 
and  how  those  special  acts  are  performed.  The  con 
ception  of  the  great  First  Cause  as  contemplating  the 
merely  automatic  workings  of  his  mechanism  in  ut 
ter  idleness  is  monstrous !" 

"  Thank  you  for  saying  that,  Mr.  Vyr,"  responded 
Madeline,  tremulously.  "  It  would  be  a  great  blow 
to  me  if  my  faith  in  the  care  of  a  Heavenly  Father 
wrere  shaken.  It  is  the  sweetest  thought  in  my  rec 
ollections  of  the  past." 

Yyr  seemed  to  be  pondering  upon  her  words. 
Presently  he  asked,  as  he  seated  himself  upon  the 


GRIFFIN   RETURNS.  209 

grass,  "  Do  you  not  like  to  think  of  the  future  as 
well  as  of  the  past?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  vaguely,  "  I  love  to  dream — as, 
I  suppose,  every  one  does." 

"  People  live  more  in  the  future  than  in  the  past 
or  present,  do  they  not  ?" 

lie  questioned  her  with  very  much  the  same  look 
.and  manner  that  a  bright  child  might  assume  in 
questioning  a  much- beloved  teacher. 

"  Some  do  :  not  all,"  the  fair  oracle  answered. 

"Who  do  not?" 

"  AVell — those  who  have  no  future  to  look  forward 
to — those  who  arc  perfectly  hopeless." 

"  Are  there  any  such  people  in  the  world  ?  Did 
you  ever  see  one  who,  you  thought,  was  perfectly 
hopeless  ?" 

"No;  I  never  saw  one,  but  I  suppose  there  arc 
such  unhappy  beings." 

"  In  the  Siberian  mines,  for  instance  ?" 

"Yes;  poor  wretches!"  with  a  shudder.  "There 
must  be  many  such  among  them.  I  never  can  think 
of  them  without  wondering  how  I  or  any  one  else 
can  ever  be  happy,  knowing  that  there  is  such  utter 
misery  in  the  world." 

"  But  you  are  happy,  are  you  not  ?" 

He  asked  precisely  as  if  he  did  not  know,  for  the 
mere  pleasure  of  hearing  her  say  she  was  happy. 

"  Yes,"  penitently. 

"  Ah,  you  have  a  good  heart,  Madeline.  I  suppose 
you  wouldn't  be  happy  if  you  could  prevent  it ;  but 
Nature  is  kinder  to  you  than  you  would  be  to  your- 


210  A   DEMIGOD. 

self.  She  will  not  let  yon  think  forever  of  human 
Buffering.  You  are  never  very  unhappy,  are  you  ?" 

"No;  when  I  think  of  it,  I  am  ashamed  to  ac 
knowledge  that  I  am  not — that  is — " 

"Why -fore  ashamed?  You  cannot  help  being 
happy,  any  more  than  you  can  help  being  young  and 
healthy,  and  beautiful  and  good.  You  cannot  make 
yourself  to  be  miserable  because  others  are,  just  as 
you  cannot  make  yourself  to  be  old  or  ill  or  ugly  or 
bad  because  others  are.  Why-fore  do  you  grow  so 
rosy  red?  Is  it  because  I  said  you  were  beautiful? 
or  is  it  because  I  said  you  were  young  and  healthy 
and  good  ?" 

"You  do  not  know  how  good  I  am,"  returned 
Madeline,  mischievously.  "  1  may  be  very  wicked, 
for  all  you  know." 

" Oh  no  ;  that  is  impossible" 

"But  how  do  you  know?  Some  wicked  people 
appear  very  good  indeed,  Mr.  Yyr." 

"Not  like  you.  Ila,  ha!  you  may  play  with  me, 
but  you  cannot  blind  my  eyes.  They  can  look 
through  yours  down  into  the  pure  little  heaven  of 
your  heart,  as  they  see  the  blue  heaven  at  the  bot 
tom  of  that  lake."  Then,  pitying  her  confusion, 
he  added,  more  calmly  and  argumentatively,  "  If 
you  were  wicked,  Miss  Paul,  you  could  not  be 
happy." 

"Why  not?"  she  asked,  quickly,  still  blushing  and 
with  downcast  eyes.  "  Did  you  not  say  that  happi 
ness  was  unreasoning,  like  health  and  youth  ?" 

"  No,  no !"  with  an  energetic  shake  of  his  head. 


GRIFFIN   RETURNS.  211 

"  Wickedness  is  a  disease  that  destroys  happiness, 
just  as  consumption  destroys  health  and  beauty." 

Madeline's  whole  frame  was  still  thrilling  with 
pleasure  at  his  praises;  but  she  retained  coolness 
enough  to  think  of  various  peccadilloes  she  had  com 
mitted  at  one  time  and  another  during  her  nineteen 
years  of  existence,  and  she  cordially  assented  to  his 
last  proposition.  "But  I  do  not  agree  with  you," 
she  said,  after  a  little  pause,  "  that  happiness  is  such  a 
negative  thing.  It  may  be  with  birds  and  little  chil 
dren,  but  with  grown-up  people  it  is  very  different." 

"  You  think  hope  has  much  to  do  with  it,  as  well 
as  memory  ?" 

"Yes;  particularly  hope.  Did  you  ever  read 
Pope's  '  Essay  on  Man  '.'  " 

"  No  ;  I  have  never  heard  of  it." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Yyr !"  exclaimed  Madeline,  in  great 
surprise,  "  I  thought  you  were  a  great  reader." 

A  little  impatient  frown  crossed  his  brow.  lie 
never  forgot  anything  himself,  and  he  could  not  un 
derstand  why  others  should  forget.  "  I  told  you 
long  ago,"  he  said,  ''that  I  had  only  a  few  English 
books  and  magazines.  Is  this  book  you  name  written 
by  Pius  IX.?" 

"  Oh  no,"  replied  Madeline,  a  trifle  coldly.  "  Pope 
is  the  author's  name,  not  his  title.  One  of  his  most 
famous  lines  is, 

"  'Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be,  blest.'  " 

"  It  is  not  a  good  line,"  said  Yyr,  shaking  his  head. 
"  He  does  not  say  what  he  means." 


212  A   DEMIGOD. 

"Why,  what  does  he  mean?"  Madeline  asked,  cu 
riously. 

"  lie  means  that  man  thinks  he  is  never  blest." 

"  Oh,  that  is  implied,  of  course." 

"It  should  not  be  implied  ;  it  should  be  said." 

"Surely,  Mr.  Vyr,"  she  cried,  sitting  bolt-upright 
in  the  hammock,  "  you  would  not  change  the  line — 
you  would  ruin  it  utterly." 

Vyr  answered,  gravely,  "  Men  think  more  of  what 
they  call  beauty,  wit,  force,  epigram,  than  they  think 
of  truth." 

"But  there  is  no  lack  of  truth  here,"  persisted 
Madeline,  more  and  more  astonished.  "Everybody 
understands  exactly  what  it  means." 

"  No,  not  quite,  perhaps,"  he  replied,  thoughtfully. 
"  The  spirit  of  the  line  is  not  good,  not  beneficent ; 
it  is  cruel ;  it  does  not  help  man  to  feel  that  he  is 
wrong  in  thinking  that  he  is  never  blest — it  rather 
makes  him  feel  that  it  is  inevitable.  It  sounds  like 
an  oracle  of  Fate — which  is  not  the  truth,  Madeline ; 
there  is  no  such  fate  pronounced  upon  man.  He 
may  be  blessed  to-day  as  well  as  in  the  future,  if  he 
will.  What  does  To-morrow  owe  him  more  than 
To-day  ?  Will  the  sun  be  brighter  ?  the  sky  bluer  ? 
the  fields  and  forests  greener  ?  If  his  heart  shall  be 
stouter,  will  it  not  also  be  heavier?  If  his  head  shall 
be  wiser,  will  it  not  also  be  more  gray  ?  If  his  limbs 
shall  be  stronger,  will  they  not  also  be  less  nimble  ?" 

"  But,"  returned  Madeline,  hesitatingly,  "  he  hopes 
for  more  than  all  this,  Mr.  Yyr.  He  looks  for — well, 
greater  power,  fame — and — and — " 


GRIFFIN   RETURNS.  213 

"When  he  shall  have  attained  all  these,  what 
then  f' 

"  Why,  then  he  looks  for  still  greater  power  and 
fame." 

Vyr  shook  his  head  again. 

"If  happiness  depends  on  such  things  as  these, 
your  poet's  line  ought  surely  to  be  changed,"  he 
said. 

"How?" 

" '  Man  never  is,  and  never  shall  l)c,  blest.'  If 
happiness  depends  on  the  things  you  have  named,  I 
wish  never  to  be  happy,  Miss  Paul.  I  wish  never  to 
be  more  renowned  or  more  powerful,  as  men  usually 
reckon  power,  than  I  am  now.  I  would  like  to  be 
even  less  widely  known  than  I  am.  But  it  is  not 
true.  I  have  been,  I  believe,  one  of  the  happiest  of 
men.  I  live,  like  a  child  or  a  bird,  in  To-day — in 
every  moment  as  it  passes.  Every  sense,  every  fac 
ulty  is  a  channel  through  which  enjoyment  is  ever 
flowing  in  upon  me.  I  love  to  walk,  to  run,  even  to 
fajld"  laughing.  "I  love  to  read,  write,  sing,  talk, 
listen,  sleep,  wake,  and — animal  that  I  am — to  eat  and 
drink.  I  love  to  walk  forth  upon  the  mountains  and 
feast  my  eyes  on  the  paradise  which  God  has  given 
us;  to  stand  on  some  lofty  peak  and  feel  the  proud 
consciousness  of  sovereignty  over  this  luxuriant  nat 
ure  ;  to  feel  in  my  body  and  mind  God's  master 
workmanship.  I  love  to  look  at  you,  as  you  sit  there 
in  your  surpassing  beauty,  and  think  of  you  as  the 
crowning  work  of  all.  Nay,  Madeline,  do  not  turn 
away  from  me.  I  have  said  that  I  live  in  the  pres- 


214  A   DEMIGOD. 

cut,  that  I  do  not  depend  for  happiness  on  the  hopes 
which  other  men  indulge.  I  do  live  in  the  present. 
These  days  are  the  most  glorious  I  have  ever  lived  ; 
this  moment  is  to  me  the  central  point  of  time — an 
existence  in  itself.  But  I  live  in  the  future,  too. 
Did  I  say  hope  was  nothing  to  me  ?  Ah,  it  is  every 
thing.  All  the  hopes  which  other  men  cherish  are 
as  nothing  compared  with  the  blissful  hope  that  has 
sprung  up  in  my  soul.  I  have  told  you  of  things  I 
love  to  do.  Best  of  all,  I  love  to  love.  Best  of  all 
things  I  love — above  them  all,  more  deeply  than  all 
— I  love  you,  Madeline  Paul !" 

He  had  risen  from  the  ground,  and  now  towered 
over  her,  gazing  upon  her  as  if  he  would  devour  her 
with  his  eyes.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  in 
tensity  of  passion  with  which  his  last  words  were  ut 
tered.  His  tones  vibrated  like  those  of  some  mighty 
organ,  his  face  seemed  transfigured,  while  his  power 
ful  frame  was  shaken  as  by  some  great  agony. 

Madeline  had  also  risen,  and  now  stood  looking  at 
him,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  through  a  mist.  His  figure 
became  more  and  more  shadowy,  but  his  burning  gaze 
seemed  to  pierce  deeper  and  deeper  into  her  inmost 
soul.  Her  lips  opened,  but  her  tongue  littered  no 
words. 

All  at  once  she  became  conscious  of  another  pres 
ence.  "With  a  great  struggle  she  threw  off  the  spell, 
and  beheld  the  face  of  Robert  Griffin  glaring  upon 
her! 

It  was  not  an  idle  freak  of  nature  that  had  given 
his  features  their  forbidding  form  and  color.  The 


IN    THE    STARLIGHT.  215 

jester's  mask  was  gone — utterly  consumed,  as  it  were, 
by  the  scorching  heat  of  those  demoniac  eyes. 

]K>  was  standing  in  the  path  not  twenty  feet  dis 
tant.  Madeline  uttered  a  cry  and  fled  towards  the 
house. 


XVI. 

IN   THE    STARLIGHT. 

HECTOR  VYR  turned,  and  saw  the  intruder. 

"  ffourounif"  he  roared,  "  it  was  you  that  fright 
ened  her  away  !  I  will  tear  you  to  atoms  !" 

lie  sprang  towards  him  like  an  enraged  lion. 

Griffin  sprang  too,  and  before  his  antagonist  could 
recover  himself  for  another  bound,  he  had  deliberate 
ly  aimed  a  pistol  at  his  heart. 

Yyr  neither  spoke  nor  moved.  Marins  disarmed 
iiii  lissassin  by  the  mesmerism  of  his  gaze.  Griilin 
stood  a  few  seconds  looking  into  those  terrible  eyes. 
Then  his  arm  slowly  sunk  to  his  side. 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  frighten  her,"  he  said,  with 
utterance  abnormally  distinct,  from  the  very  effort  to 
throw  off  the  awe  he  felt  creeping  over  him.  u  I  did 
not  know  what  was  in  progress.  I  came  back  to  join 
my  friends,  and  happened  upon  you  by  pure  acci 
dent—at  a  very  inopportune  moment,  it  seems." 

Vyr  held  out  both  hands,  while  a  smile  broke  out 
over  his  face,  like  sudden  sunshine  through  threaten 
ing  clouds.  "Forgive  me;  I  was  a  madman." 


210  A    DEMIGOD. 

But  Griffin  drew  back  haughtily.  "  I  cannot  take 
your  hand,  Mr.  Vyr,"  he  said. 

"Why-fore  not?"  Vyr  asked,  with  innocent  sur 
prise.  "  Are  you  afraid  of  it  ?  I  made  a  mistake. 
It  will  not  hurt  you  now." 

Griffin's  only  reply  was  a  scornful  smile  and  a  sig 
nificant  little  wave  of  his  pistol. 

As  if  by  a  stroke  of  lightning,  the  weapon  was 
torn  from  his  grasp  and  hurled  far  over  the  tree- 
tops,  exploding  as  it  fell. 

"When  1  play  with  a  serpent,"  said  Vyr,  into 
whose  face  a  calmer,  deeper  wrath  had  come,  "I 
first  pluck  out  his  sting." 

Griffin  stared  blankly  at  his  benumbed  fingers,  then 
at  Vyr.  "  You  are  very  quick,"  he  said,  at  length  ; 
"  you  can  overmatch  me  ;  but  you  cannot  make  peace 
with  me.  I  love  that  lady,  Mr.  Vyr,  as  well  as  your 
self." 

"  Does  she  love  you  ?" 

"I — I — have,  at  least,  as  good  reason  for  hope  as 
you,  sir ;  and  I  have  a  prior  claim.  I  have  known 
her  almost  from  a  child,  while  it  is  only  a  few  days 
since  you  knew  that  such  a  being  existed." 

"  There  is  truth  in  that  what  you  say.  But  this 
is  a  matter  in  which  there  is  no  prior  claim.  Miss 
Paul  herself  shall  decide  between  you  and  me." 

"  She  is  in  no  respect  suited  to  you,"  retorted  Grif 
fin,  angrily.  "  You  have  no  right  to  ask  her  to  aban 
don  her  own  country  and  kindred,  the  friends  of  her 
lifetime,  the  comforts  and  refinements  of  civilization, 
to  share  your  savage  life  in  this  wilderness." 


IN   THE   STARLIGHT.  217 

For  a  while  Vyr  did  not  answer.  The  rich,  dark 
bloom  faded  from  his  check,  and  it  was  with  a  strange 
faltering  in  his  voice  that  he  finally  said, 

"  I  have,  at  least,  the  right  to  ask.  She  lias  the 
right  to  accept  or  refuse,  as  her  own  heart  shall  dic 
tate." 

"And  so,"  cried  Griffin,  following  up  his  advan 
tage  with  merciless  vindictiveness,  "you  would 
shamelessly  accept  the  romantic  fancy  which  the 
poor  young  creature  may  have  conceived  for  your — 
your  barbarous  physical  strength  and  prowess,  and 
your  still  more  barbarous  habits  of  life,  and  call  it 
love  !  You  would  take  advantage  of  this  silly  fancy, 
I  say,  to  allure  her  to  a  step  she  would  bitterly  re 
gret  when  she  came  to  her  senses !  You  would  really 
marry  her,  would  you,  Hector  Vyr  ?  You,  a  non 
descript  mountain  hermit,  and  she  a  tender  flower  of 
civilization !  Faugh !" 

He  saw  with  malicious  joy  that  his  bitter  words 
were  producing  an  effect,  and  the  consciousness  gave 
new  fertility  to  his  brain  and  fluency  to  his  tongue. 
But  the  calm,  white  face  did  not  reveal  with  how 
terrible  a  power  his  blows  fell  upon  that  great,  sim 
ple  heart.  For  a  few  moments  Vyr  remained  silent, 
then  his  face  lifted  with  a  look  of  sublime  resigna 
tion,  as  he  said  in  low,  humble  tones, 

"Mr.  Griftin,  i  have  done  to  you  a  very  great 
wrong.  I  believed  in  my  heart  that  you  were  only 
a  shallow  trifler,  with  no  soul  above  your  little  jests. 
I  knew  that  you  loved  Miss  Paul ;  but  I  also  knew 
that  she  did  not  return  your  love,  and  I  believed  you 


218  A  DEMIGOD. 

were  unsuited  to  her,  as  you  say  /  am  unsuited  to 
her.  I  find  that  I  made  a  mistake.  I  find  you  a 
man  of  thought  and  earnestness.  Perhaps  you  are 
even  capable  of — no,  I  cannot  believe  that.  Tell  me, 
Robert  Griffin,  is  it  true  that  she  would  be  unhappy 
here?  Are  her  home  and  her  friends,  the  excite 
ments  of  society,  so  necessary  to  her  that  nothing  can 
take  their  places  ?  Tell  me,"  he  repeated,  his  whole 
soul  in  his  adjuration,  "  do  you  really  believe  this  in 
your  secret  heart  ?" 

The  incredible  simplicity  that  would  ask  such  a 
question,  at  such  a  time,  of  him,  brought  a  con 
temptuous  smile  upon  Griffin's  face.  "  Believe  it  ?" 
he  replied,  with  the  careless  insolence  he  would  have 
assumed  to  an  inferior  whose  anger  he  despised— 
"  why,  of  course  I  believe  it." 

But  Robert  Griffin  judged  from  his  ordinary  ex 
perience  in  the  world,  where  such  simplicity  is  usu 
ally  the  result  of  mere  obtuseness  of  intellect.  He 
could  not  understand  that  in  this  case  it  sprang  from 
a  grandeur  of  soul  that,  for  the  moment,  was  willing 
to  accept  even  him  as  a  peer.  He  was  instantly  un 
deceived. 

"  Go  !"  said  Yyr,  waving  his  hand  with  utter  loath 
ing.  "  Why-fore  do  I  stoop  to  talk  words  with  you  ? 
I  thought  you  were  a  man.  You  have  the  tongue  of 
a  man,  but  the  soul  of  a  lizard  !" 

Without  deigning  another  look  at  the  dazed  face 
of  him  he  thus  spurned,  he  strode  majestically  away. 

Griffin  had  seen  the  best  tragedians  of  his  day,  and 
had  himself  no  mean  skill  at  tragic  impersonation, 


IN   THE   STARLIGHT.  219 

for  which  his  peculiar  physiognomy  admirably  fitted 
him ;  but  never  in  his  life  before  had  he  conceived 
of  the  wonderful  capabilities  of  the  human  voice  and 
countenance.  He  knew  well  that  much  of  his  own 
short-lived  power  over  his  rival  had  been  due  to  his 
excellent  elocution ;  he  knew  also  that  in  one  un 
guarded  moment  he  had  betrayed  himself,  that  in 
that  moment  his  rival  had  seen  through  his  flimsy 
heroics.  He  felt  that  the  tremendous  outburst  of 
scorn  which  had  followed  the  discovery  was  gen 
uine —  that  the  man,  powerful  and  mature  as  he 
was,  was  as  incapable  of  mere  acting  as  a  child ; 
and  this  consciousness  left  him  gazing,  like  one 
paralyzed,  at  the  tall  retreating  figure,  whose  very 
back  seemed  to  dart  upon  him  arrows  of  con 
tempt. 

When  Yyr  had  vanished  behind  the  trees,  Griffin 
shook  himself,  drew7  in  a  long  breath,  and  expelled  it 
again  in  a  series  of  blasphemous  ejaculations  expres 
sive  of  wonder,  self-reproach,  and  hatred  for  his  for 
midable  rival.  He  then  went  to  look  for  his  revolver, 
which  he  found  at  a  marvellous  distance  from  the 
spot  whence  it  had  been  thrown.  It  had  fallen  upon 
a  rock,  and  was  ruined  past  repair.  Spurning  it  with 
another  fierce  oath,  he  walked  straight  to  the  door  of 
the  house,  and  haughtily  demanded  to  'see  his  rela 
tives.  His  uncle  greeted  him  cordially,  and  asked 
what  in  the  name  of  the  Old  Black  Coal-heaver  he 
had  gone  away  for,  and  where  he  had  been.  Deign 
ing  no  reply  to  these  questions,  Griffin  angrily  in 
quired  if  his  uncle  was  aware  how  far  matters  had 


220  A  DEMIGOD. 

advanced  between  Madeline  and  their  host,  and  with 
out  a  pause  proceeded  to  a  lurid  description  of  the 
scene  he  had  just  witnessed. 

The  major  listened  patiently  till  he  had  finished  ; 
then,  laying  his  hand  on  his  nephew's  arm,  he  said, 
with  tender  deliberation,  "Robert,  my  poor  boy,  I 
have  been  expecting  some  such  thing  as  this." 

"  Oh,  you  have,  have  you  ?"  retorted  Griffin,  recoil 
ing  and  growing  white.  "And  I  suppose  you  have 
been  hoping  for  it,  too  ?" 

"  No,  not  exactly  that.  I  have  simply  felt  that  I 
could  not  prevent  it." 

"  Prevent  it !"  with  a  passionate  oath.  "  Of  course 
you  could  prevent  it  if  you  had  wanted  to.  Why 
the  devil  didn't  you  take  her  away,  as  I  asked  you 
to  so  many  times  ?" 

"  What,  against  his  wishes?  You  couldn't  expect 
me  to  do  that,  Robert.  Have  you  forgotten  what 
obligations  we  are  all  under  to  him  ?" 

"  So,  to  pay  the  debt,  you  are  willing  to  sacrifice 
your  own  daughter,  whom  you  have  pretended  to 
love  so  tenderly !" 

"  What's  that  you  say,  you  young — "  began  the 
major,  blazing  up.  But  he  instantly  calmed  down 
again.  "  I'll  stand  anything  in  reason  from  you, 
Robert,  because  I  pity  you  from  my  soul ;  but  I  want 
you  to  understand  there's  going  to  be  no  sacrifice  of 
my  Madeline  to  Vyr,  or  you,  or  anybody  else.  She's 
to  be  absolutely  free  to  choose  for  herself.  I've 
promised  her  that,  and  I'll  be  as  good  as  my  word. 
She's  got  a  level  head  as  well  as  a  heart  of  gold. 


IX  THE  STARLIGHT.  221 

She'll  never  be  such  a  fool  as  to  imprison  herself 
among  these  howling  mountain  caves — I'll  trust  her 
for  that.  If  she's  influence  enough  over  this  Hector 
Yyr  to  draw  him  out  of  his  hermitage  and  lead  him 
captive  to  Boston,  she  may  do  it  without  any  inter 
ference  from  me.  If  she  hasn't,  there'll  be  the  end 
of  it.  Mark  my  words,  Robert  Griffin,  she'd  never 
bury  herself  here  for  Jupiter  Ammon  himself  ! — nei 
ther  you  nor  I  need  fear  any  such  result.  In  any 
event,  I  shall  never  forget  my  debt  to  this  man,  or 
Madeline's  either ;  and  if  he  really  wants  her  for  his 
wife,  the  very  least  he  is  entitled  to  is  a  fair  chance 
to  win  her  if  he  can.  Don't  you  see  that's  only  right, 
my  dear  fellow  C  in  a  softer  tone,  again  laying  his 
hand  on  Griffin's  arm.  "  You've  as  fair  a  chance  as 
he,  haven't  you  ?" 

Utterly  beside  himself  with  rage,  Griffin  snatch 
ed  his  arm  away.  "  You  talk,  you  old  hypocrite ! 
Didn't  you  try  to  get  me  out  of  the  way,  so  that  he 
might  have  the  field  to  himself  2" 

Up  flew  the  major's  ready  fist.  His  reckless  neph 
ew  would  have  measured  his  length  upon  the  floor 
if  he  had  not  adroitly  slipped  aside.  Instant  con 
sciousness  of  his  folly  flashed  into  his  brain.  "  I  take 
it  back,  Uncle  Warren,  I  take  it  back,"  he  whined. 
"  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  saying." 

"  Yes,  you  did,  you  insulting  puppy !"  bellowed 
the  major,  furiously,  "and  you  knew  it  was  a  villan- 
ous  lie  !  I  told  you  to  go  or  stay,  as  you  pleased,  and 
I  advised  you  to  stay." 

If  this  had  been  their  first  stormy  quarrel,  it  would 


222  A  DEMIGOD. 

without  doubt  have  been  irreparable  ;  but  mere  words 
were  too  cheap  witli  both  to  be  fatal.  Even  if  the 
major's  anger  had  not  been  habitually  short-lived, 
pity  for  his  unhappy  kinsman  would  soon  have 
quenched  it ;  and  as  for  Griffin,  his  returning  pru 
dence  had  already  supplanted  his  exceedingly  impol 
itic  rage. 

A  partial  reconciliation  took  place,  therefore,  after 
which  Griffin  dashed  away  to  find  Madeline.  From 
Miss  Wellington,  whose  eager  questions  he  contempt 
uously  thrust  aside,  he  learned  that  she  had  taken 
refuge  in  her  room.  lie  flew  up-stairs,  and  listened 
at  her  door.  No  sound.  He  rapped  gently.  A  la 
bored  breathing,  and  a  rustle  as  of  some  one  rising 
from  the  bed. 

"Madeline,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  but  little  above  a 
whisper,  "  will  you  not  see  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  Robert,"  came  through  the  door,  "  please  go 
away !" 

"  If  I  do,"  in  a  louder  tone,  "  it  will  be  forever." 

"But  I  —  I  can't  come  now;  I  am  utterly  ex 
hausted." 

" Good-by,  then.     Remember,  it  \sforever" 

"No,  no!  I  will  come."  The  door  was  unlocked, 
and  she  stepped  forth,  her  cheeks  burning,  her  hair 
unbound  and  enveloping  her  shoulders  and  waist 
like  a  brown  mantle.  "  Why  are  you  so  cruel  2"  she 
asked.  "  Could  you  not  wait  till — " 

"  Till  you  were  lost  to  me  forever  ?"  he  burst  forth 
— "  till  you  had  bound  yourself  like  a  slave  to  this 
monstrous — " 


IN    THE   STARLIGHT.  223 

She  threw  up  her  hands  as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow. 
"  I  can  never  be  more  lost  to  you  than  now,"  she 
cried,  passionately.  "No  one  could  treat  me  more 
like  a  slave  than  you  ;  no  one  could  be  more  unjust, 
more  insulting  to  —  to  —  one  who  merits  only  your 
life-long  gratitude.  lie  has  done  you  no  harm,  Rob 
ert  ;  I  have  never  changed  my  mind  for  a  moment, 
and  I  never  shall.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am 
for  you — but  go  away  now;  wait  till  we  are  both 
calmer,  at  least." 

"  And  give  you  up  ? — leave  you  to  drag  out  your 
days  in  this  solitude  with  that  mountain  demon  ?" 

"Don't  insult  him  any  more  to  me!"  she  retorted, 
her  hot  cheek  growing  suddenly  cold  and  white. 
"  Go  to  him  if  you  dare.  He  could  strike  you  dead 
with  one  sweep  of  his  hand  ;  but  he  wouldn't — no, 
he  wouldn't  stoop  to  harm  you.  He  is  not  a  mount 
ain  demon,  he  is  a  mountain  god  !" 

"  Yes,  you  poor,  silly,  romantic  child,  I  know  you 
think  so.  And  you  think  you  love  him,  do  you  ?  A 
fashionable  young  lady  of  Boston,  only  a  little  while 
out  of  boarding-school,  daughter  of  a  Yankee  store 
keeper,  in  love  with  a  god!"  Words  cannot  de 
scribe  the  stinging  sarcasm  with  which  he  flung  this 
at  her. 

But  she  was  impervious.  "  Yes,"  she  replied, 
drawing  up  her  tall,  slight  h'gure ;  "  imperfect  and 
weak  as  I  am,  I  love  him  !" 

"  Then  listen  to  me,  Madeline  Paul.     You  say  he 
could  strike  me  dead.     Imperfect  and  weak  as  I  am, 
and  god  as  he  is,  I'll  strike  hint,  dead  !" 
15 


224  A   DEMIGOD. 

With  this  menace  on  his  lips,  he  vanished  from  be 
fore  her  horror-stricken  eyes. 

For  a  long  minute  she  stood  motionless  as  he  had 
left  her.  Then,  without  knowing  how,  she  was  at  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs  and  in  the  path  in  swift  pursuit. 

"  Yon  need  not  follow  me !"  he  shouted  back.  "  I 
shall  bide  my  time !" 

She  knew  the  sentinel  on  guard  had  orders  to  al 
low  any  of  Major  Paul's  party  to  cross  and  recross 
the  narrow  bridge  at  pleasure.  She  called  to  him, 
but  before  he  could  understand  the  meaning  of  her 
frantic  words  and  gestures,  Griffin  was  safely  over 
the  chasm  and  out  of  sight.  She  darted  back  to  the 
house,  and  tried  to  find  her  father.  He,  too,  had 
disappeared.  No  one  was  there  but  Madame  Vyr. 
Knowing,  even  in  her  terror,  that  it  would  be  worse 
than  useless  to  alarm  her,  she  ran  with  might  and 
main  towards  a  field  where  she  had  sometimes  seen 
Vyr  at  work  with  his  men.  He  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen.  Gradually  she  became  calmer.  Robert  had 
only  meant  to  frighten  her.  It  was  not  possible  that 
lie  really  meant  to  carry  out  his  murderous  threat. 
At  any  rate,  there  was  no  immediate  danger,  and  she 
would  have  ample  time  to  warn  her  lover.  Once  on 
his  guard,  what  had  she  to  fear  for  him  who  had  so 
long  defied  the  combined  skill  and  treachery  of  the 
klephts?  She  would  not  even  distress  her  friends 
with  the  fearful  tale  ;  for  if,  as  she  became  more  and 
more  convinced,  Robert  was  only  playing  upon  her 
fears,  how  glad  she  would  always  be  that  she  had 
kept  her  own  counsel. 


IX   THE   STARLIGHT.  225 

The  afternoon  waned ;  the  supper-hour  came — but 
not  the  master  of  the  table.  His  mother  would  not 
wait  for  him ;  for,  she  said,  his  meal-times  were  as 
regular  as  the  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun,  and  she 
knew  he  was  at  supper  elsewhere.  As  the  evening 
passed,  and  still  he  did  not  corne,  Madeline's  terror 
by  degrees  returned  in  full  power.  She  could  not 
sit  with  the  family,  but  went  and  paced  to  and  fro 
upon  the  veranda.  What  if  the  threat  had  already 
been  carried  into  execution  ?  As  the  thought  took 
full  possession  of  her  mind,  blanching  her  cheeks  and 
lips,  she  turned  to  fly,  she  knew  not  where — to  her 
father,  to  implore  him  to  go  forth  with  her  into  the 
darkness  and  search  for  him  —  to  Madame  Yyr,  to 
alarm  the  servants  and  the  people  in  the  valleys 
— somewhere,  everywhere — to  do  something,  every 
thing,  to  prevent  a  catastrophe  which  seemed  to  her 
the  destruction  of  the  flower  and  glory  of  the  world. 
But  before  she  could  act  on  any  of  her  frenzied  im 
pulses,  she  heard  quick,  firm  steps  approaching,  and 
in  another  moment  Hector  Yyr  ran  up  the  steps. 

With  an  inarticulate  cry  she  made  a  movement 
towards  him,  and  sank  trembling  into  a  chair. 

He  knelt  beside  her,  and  seizing  her  hand,  pressed 
it  with  his  lips.  "You  have  been  waiting — watch 
ing  for  me?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  that  thrilled  her 
through  and  through.  "  You  have  been  waiting  here 
to  tell  me  that  you  return  my  love  ?  My  soul  blesses 
you,  bows  in  adoration  before  you.  Until  now  I 
thought  myself  blest  above  my  race ;  I  thought  my 
earth  was  fairer  than  other  men's,  my  skies  brighter; 


226  A   DEMIGOD. 

but  you  have  brought  me  a  new  heaven  and  a  new 
earth.  You  have  made  my  past  life  seem  a  waste  of 
loneliness  and  selfishness,  and  have  opened  before  me 
the  gates  of  paradise." 

"  I — I  have  been  watching  for  you,"  began  Made 
line,  in  weak,  tremulous  tones ;  "  because  I  was  afraid 
that —  Oh,"  with  a  sudden  outburst  of  joy  and  love 
— "  oh,  thank  Heaven,  you  are  alive — alive  and  un 
harmed  !  He  said  he  would  strike  you  dead  !" 

Yyr  clasped  both  her  hands,  and  laughed  in  an  ec 
stasy  of  mingled  tenderness  and  amusement.  "  Let 
not  your  woman's  heart  be  troubled,"  he  said.  "  Shall 
I  fear  the  threatenings  of  a  jester,  who,  though  he 
speaks  terrible  words,  has  not  courage  to  use  the 
weapons  he  bears?  He  is  as  shallow  in  his  boasting 
as  in  his  jesting.  If  I  did  not  pity  his  hopeless  love 
for  you,  my  own  beautiful  one,  I  should  only  laugh 
at  him." 

"  Ah,  he  is  not  jesting  now,"  replied  Madeline, 
raising  her  head  and  timidly  touching  with  her  hand 
one  of  the  short  curling  locks  on  his  temple.  "  lie 
is  terribly  in  earnest.  Oh,  I  have  been  trembling  for 
you — you  were  gone  so  long." 

"  0  T/teos  nd  se  euloyese!"  *  lie  exclaimed,  fervent 
ly.  "  You  shall  tremble  no  more.  Consider,  my  dar 
ling  one— I  am  accustomed  to  far  more  dangerous 
enemies  than  he  is,  men  not  only  more  reckless  but 
skilled — as  he  certainly  is  not — in  hunting  down  their 
victims.  Have  no  fear  in  your  heart,  Madeline — if 

*  God  bless  you ! 


IN   THE   STARLIGHT.  337 

lie  ventures  to  attack  me,  I  will  scare  him  away  with 
a  look." 

"  If  he  should  attack  you  openly,  I  should  not  fear 
— at  least  for  you.     lie  is  my  cousin,  poor  Robert  ! 
I  cannot  believe  he  would  be  so  vile  a  coward  as  to — 
But,  then,  that  fearful  threat!     And  when  you  go. 
away,  as  you  have  done  to-day,  and  are  gone  so  long — 

"  My  eyes  are  always  open  wide  when  I  walk.  I 
know  all  the  hiding-places  here,  as  you  know  the 
dwelling-houses  in  the  street  where  you  live.  My 
ears  are  trained  to  hear  sounds  when  to  you  there 
would  be  unbroken  silence.  Shall  I  tell  to  you  why- 
fore  I  was  gone  so  long?  I  have  been  fighting — 
no,"  with  a  laugh,  as  she  started  up — "  not  with  the 
klephts,  nor  with  /tun,  but  with  myself.  I  told  you 
of  my  love  too  soon.  It  burst  from  my  lips,  because 
my  heart  could  not  keep  it  imprisoned.  I  have  been 
punishing  myself  for  my  too  great  haste,  for  my  self 
ishness,  in  asking  you  to  turn  your  back  on  the  coun 
try  of  your  birth,  on  your  father,  who  has  cherished 
you  from  your  babyhood,  your  mother's  grave,  your 
friends  who  love  you  so  well  and  whom  you  love, 
the  pleasures  and  refinements  to  which  you  have  all 
your  life  been  accustomed — to  turn  your  back  on 
all  these,  and  live  with  me  in  this  solitude — grand, 
glorious,  filled  with  things  which  satisfy  my  mother 
and  me,  but  still  a  solitude.  'What  right  have  I,'  I 
asked  myself, '  even  if  she  were  willing,  to  transplant 
this  tender  flower,  that  has  grown  and  bloomed  in  a 
sheltered  garden  in  the  midst  of  palaces,  to  even  a 
paradise  of  uncultivated  nature?' 


228  A   DEMIGOD. 

"  Then  I  answered  to  myself, '  But  I  love  her  with 
a  love  i m measurably  greater  than  the  love  of  father 
and  friends.  I  will  reconcile  her  to  the  loss  of  other 
society  by  an  affection  which  shall  always  absorb  her 
whole  heart  and  soul ;  I  will  make  her  to  forget  those 
pleasures  she  leaves,  by  filling  all  her  moments  with 
greater  pleasures  than  she  ever  dreamed.  For  the 
home  she  abandons,  she  shall  have  one  fashioned  af 
ter  her  own  wildest  fancy.  If  my  wealth  is  not  great 
enough,  cannot  I  increase  it  as  I  will  ?  And  it  shall 
awake  in  me  a  sweet  ambition  I  have  never  yet  felt 
to  enthrone  my  peerless  queen  in  a  palace  of  her 
own  devising.' 

"  I  thought,  too,  of  my  mother ;  how  she  had  left 
home  and  kindred  and  position — all  I  should  ask  you 
to  leave — for  this  same  mountain  home ;  and  yet  how 
she  was  supremely  blest — until,"  lowering  his  voice, 
"  that  dark  hour,  Madeline,  that  I  have  told  you  of." 

A  sudden  trembling  seized  her,  and  he  felt,  rath 
er  than  saw,  that  her  face  had  grown  white  in  the 
bright  starlight. 

"I  read  your  thought,  my  tender-hearted  love," 
throwing  his  arm  around  her,  as  if  to  protect  her 
from  her  own  fancies.  "I  thought  of  this  in  my 
struggle  with  myself  to-day.  She  is  not  accustomed, 
I  said,  to  ever-present  dangers,  as  I  am.  But  she  shall 
grow  stronger;  she  shall  learn  to  laugh  at  fears  of 
evils  that  may  never  come,  as  she  now  laughs  at  old 
nurses'  tales  to  children.  Yes,  my  Madeline,  I  thought 
of  everything,  and  I  resolved  to  say  to  you  no  more 
of  love  until  you  had  smiled  upon  the  confession  that 


IX   THE   STARLIGHT.  229 

came  unbidden  from  my  lips.  You  waited  for  me 
here ;  your  sweet  soul  was  turn  with  fears  for  my 
safety ;  you  love  me  :  and  here  I  lay  myself,  my  love, 
my  hopes,  my  promises,  at  your  feet." 

Madeline  uttered  no  word,  but  her  eyes,  in  which 
the  starlight  seemed  condensed  to  soft,  liquid  fire, 
remained  fixed  on  his  till  he  had  finished  speaking. 
For  a  while  longer  she  continued  silent,  hearing  only 
the  throbbing  in  her  own  breast.  At  length  she 
spoke : 

''It  seems  to  me  like  a  wonderful  dream.  I  feel 
as  if  I  had  been  lifted  from  earth  into  a  gorgeous 
cloud-land.  Nothing  is  real  to  me  but  3-011,  my  hap 
piness,  and  my  love.  Can  it  be  only  four  short  weeks 
since  my  friends  and  I  were  trembling  for  our  lives  ( 
It  seems  as  if  I  had  known  you  for  years.'' 

"And  loved  me  f 

"I  think  I  must  have  loved  you  from  the  first, 
though  I  did  not  know  it.  I  thought  it  was  only 
gratitude,  wonder,  admiration  for  one  who  made  all 
other  men  seem  like  pygmies.  I  thought  no  more 
of  loving  you  than  of  loving  the  sun.  What  was 
poor  little  I  to  dream  of  such  a  thing  ?  But  my 
fancy  created  a  being  suited  to  you,  a  creature  who 
should  match  your  splendor  with  beauty  more  daz 
zling  and  nature  more  lovely  than  poet  ever  imag 
ined.  Ah,  Mr.  Vyr,  what  an  enchanting  idyl  I  have 
been  weaving !  Is  it  not  a  pity  that  it  should  be 
spoiled  ?  that  this  resplendent  creature  of  my  fancy 
should  be  supplanted  in  your  heart  and  by  your  side 
by  a  commonplace,  fashionable  Boston  girl  ?" 


230  A   DEMIGOD. 

She  looked  up  with  a  half-doubting,  half-roguish 
smile,  and  was  going  on  in  the  same  strain,  remind 
ing  him  of  his  oath,  when  he  suddenly  smothered  her 
voluble  self -depreciation  with  kisses,  protesting  in 
the  intervals  that  she  was  the  one  above  all  others 
who  would  enable  him  most  gloriously  to  fulfil  his 
oath ;  that  no  creature  of  her  fancy  could  equal  her 
self ;  that  he  would  listen  to  no  more  hyperbole  in  re 
gard  to  himself;  that  he  was  no  sun,  nor  god,  nor 
demigod,  nor  anything  of  the  sort,  but  only  a  'man 
with  a  sound  head,  body,  and  heart,  who  had  simply 
taken  good  honest  care  of  himself,  as  his  ancestors 
had  done  before  him,  and  who,  thank  Heaven,  had 
now  one  whom  he  loved  far  better  than  himself  to 
care  for. 

Thus  they  communed  together,  till  the  old  moon, 
rising  above  the  black  ^Egean,  seemed  to  glorify 
their  love  with  her  radiant  benediction. 


XVII. 

THE  LABORATORY. 

IN  the  morning  Yyr  and  Madeline  went  up  the 
cliff  to  see  the  sunrise.  It  was  not  the  first  time  they 
had  together  witnessed  the  grand  spectacle  ;  but  there 
was  now  an  inward  glory  that  shone  forth  and  mag 
nified  the  outer  glories  tenfold.  The  mists  of  night 
had  not  yet  fled :  each  summit  was  crowned  with  a 


THE   LABORATORY.  331 

halo  that  gradually  took  on  the  cool  blush  of  morn 
ing,  while  the  deep  valleys  .seemed  to  awake,  one  by 
one,  refreshed  and  smiling  from  their  dreamless  sleep 
As  the  "silver-orbed  chariot''  leaped  above  the  sea, 
turning  the  purple  clouds  to  many -colored  flames, 
Madeline  clasped  her  hands  in  an  ecstasy  of  admira 
tion.  But  neither  spoke  until  the  pageant  had  some 
what  faded.  Then  said  Vyr, 

"/Sic  transit  gloria  mundi" 

"  AVhy  must  it  be  so  ?"  responded  Madeline.  "  Why 
must  the  greatest  glory  always  be  the  most  tran 
sient  2" 

"It  passes  away,  but  only  to  return." 

"And  will  it  be  so  forever  f  Will  the  last  sunrise 
of  all  never  come  ?" 

"  I  suppose  it  will,"  answered  Vyr,  smiling — 
"neither  sun  nor  earth  is  immortal." 

"  Is  it  not  a  terrible  thought  that  all  life  and  beauty 
must  perish,  that  all  the  lights  in  the  firmament  must 
be  put  out,  that  the  universe  must  at  last  be  one  vast 
sepulchre  V 

u  Xay,  that  will  never  be.  The  universe  shall 
never  die  utterly.  When  the  time  comes  of  which 
you  speak,  One  shall  say,  '  It  is  not  dead,  but  sleep- 
etli.'  Then  lie  shall  stretch  forth  His  hand — '  I  say 
unto  thee,  arise!'  And  from  Him  there  shall  pro 
ceed  virtue.  The  streams  of  force  and  life  that  have 
sunk  to  their  lowest  level  shall  again  be  lifted  to  their 
sources ;  the  great  heart  of  nature  that  has  expanded 
shall  again  contract :  the  night  shall  pass,  and  a  ne\v 
day  shall  dawn," 


£32  A   DEMIGOD. 

"  Oh,  what  a  glorious  prophecy  !"  exclaimed  Made 
line,  her  face  glowing  anew. 

"  I  cannot  believe  otherwise.  '  In  the  beginning 
God  created  the  heavens  and  the  earth ;'  but  they 
were  not  i\\Q  first  heavens  nor  the  first  earth;  they 
are  but  the  last  of  an  infinite  series,  as  to-day  has 
come  after  millions  of  yesterdays.  Neither  shall  they 
be  the  last :  there  shall  come  endless  to-morrows. 
God  never  has  been  idle ;  he  never  will  be  idle ;  it 
is  Brahma,  not  God,  who  sleeps." 

"Oh,  if  this  were  only  science,  instead  of  a  beauti 
ful  speculation  !"  sighed  Madeline. 

"Stubborn  science  will  not  read  all  the  pages  nat 
ure  has  written.  Look  at  that  carob-trec.  It  was 
once  a  little  germ  ;  it  has  grown  to  its  maturity ;  it 
will  decline  and  die.  Will  there  be  no  more  trees? 
Yes ;  it  has  sown  its  seed.  One  great  law  pervades 
all  nature:  birth,  growth,  decline,  death,  reproduc 
tion.  The  law  governs  every  organism,  from  the 
monad  to  man — from  man  to  the  universe !" 

As  he  stood  erect,  overlooking  the  vast  amphi 
theatre,  he  seemed  indeed  a  prophet  reading  to  the 
mountains,  valleys,  and  seas  their  destiny. 

After  breakfast  the  lovers  went  forth  to  renew 
their  communion  with  nature  and  with  each  other. 
They  threaded  labyrinths,  explored  caves,  and  crept 
under  cascades.  No  wonder  the  ancient  Greeks  were 
an  imaginative  race.  They  could  not  but  people  their 
mountains  with  oreads,  their  seas  with  tritons,  their 
woodlands  with  dryads,  their  caves  with  satyrs.  Amid 


THE   LABORATORY.  233 

those  wild,  poetic  scenes.  Hector  Vyr  was  more  than 
ever  a  god  to  Madeline  ;  she  to  him  more  than  ever  a 
goddess. 

Passing  through  a  little  clump  of  carob-trees,  they 
found  themselves  in  the  midst  of  a  blaze  of  rhodo 
dendrons.  Beyond  were  the  remains  of  an  old  Spar 
tan  wall,  built  in  two  courses  of  hewn  stone,  and 
filled  in  between  with  the  fragments.  It  was  in  a 
good  state  of  preservation,  though  nearly  concealed 
by  ivy  and  thorn- bush.  From  the  parapet  they  looked 
down  a  precipitous  descent,  which  even  without  the 
wall  would  have  rendered  the  height  well-nigh  inac 
cessible. 

"  My  home  was  one  of  the  Lacedemonian  fortress 
es,''  said  Vyr.  "  History  does  not  mention  it,  but  I 
have  no  doubt  if  these  walls  could  speak  they  could 
tell  as  stirring  a  tale  as  old  Ithome.  You  see  how 
this  side  is  protected.  On  the  north  and  cast  are  im 
passable  ridges  ;  on  the  south  the  only  approach  is 
by  my  log-bridge." 

"It  is  fortunate  for  the  country  that  you  are  in 
trenched  here  instead  of  the  klephts,"  said  Made 
line. 

They  followed  the  wall  until  they  overlooked  a 
beautiful  little  valley  with  a  stream  running  through 
it.  By  the  side  of  the  stream  stood  a  low,  nonde 
script  building  of  stone  surmounted  by  a  tall  chim 
ney.  Madeline  asked  what  it  could  be. 

"  That,"  replied  Vyr,  "  is  my  chemical  laboratory .*r 

"  Oh  yes.  Papa  told  me  of  your  scientific  as  well! 
as  literary  labors:  how  you  wrote  books  and  made 


234  A  DEMIGOD. 

discoveries  for  your  own  private  pleasure  and  benefit, 
without  hope  or  desire  of  other  reward,  either  in 
fame  or  fortune.  But  he  told  me  that  your  books 
were  written  only  in  your  head,  and  I  didn't  know 
but— but—" 

"  That  my  scientific  experiments  were  performed 
there,  too  ?"  asked  Yyr,  laughing.  "  No,  I  should 
scarcely  be  as  cool-headed  as  I  try  to  be,  if  I  should 
admit  nitric  acid  and  electric  fire  into  that  labora 
tory." 

That  Hector  Yyr  should  condescend  to  be  funny, 
as  any  one  else  would  have  been  in  like  circumstances, 
seemed  strange  to  Madeline,  but  no  more  strange  than 
delightful.  She  laughed  merrily,  but  protested  that 
her  idea  was  not  so  absurd  after  all.  She  thought,  of 
course,  that  he  could  make  discoveries  without  the 
slow  and  tedious  labor  of  experimenting — tlmt  was 
what  other  men  were  obliged  to  do. 

"My  beloved,"  he  replied,  gravely,  " I  hope  you 
are  speaking  only  in  jest." 

"  Not  entirely,"  she  said,  looking  up  with  ingenu 
ous  homage  into  his  eyes  ;  "  I  really  did  think  some 
thing  of  the  sort.  You  are  not  like  other  men,  you 
know." 

"  Yes,  Madeline,  in  all  respects  except  that  I  have 
tried  to  obey  the  laws  of  my  being  as  other  men 
usually  do  not.  It  troubles  me  to  hear  you  speak  as 
if  I  were  otherwise,  even  in  play  ;  to  hear  you  speak, 
as  you  sometimes  do,  as  if  I  were  a  sort  of  unnatural 
prodigy.  You  seem  to  me  the  perfection  of  nature 
— the  very  goal  towards  which  I  am  striving — and  it 


THE   LABORATORY.  235 

raise-  :i  barrier  between  us  when  you  attribute  to  me 
qualities  and  degrees  I  do  not  possess.  I  am  no  An- 
tyropodaimon,  although  it  suits  my  purpose  that  my 
enemies  should  deceive  themselves  with  that  super 
stition.  I  wish  you  to  look  upon  me,  as  I  look  upon 
you,  as  a  part  of  what  is  to  be  a  harmonious  whole. 
Let  there  be  no  barrier  between  us,  my  loved  one, 
nothing  to  prevent  our  mingling  heart  with  heart  in 
perfect  unconstraint." 

"There  is  no  barrier  between  us,  Hector,"  replied 
Madeline,  laying  both  her  hands  in  his,  while  her  up 
turned  face  shone  with  the  perfect  love  which  cast- 
eth  out  fear. 

After  a  while  they  returned  to  the  subject  of  the 
laboratory.  "  There  are  few  discoveries  without  ex 
periment,"  said  Yyr.  "Nature  does  not  reveal  her 
mysteries  except  to  the  patient,  persevering  question 
er.  The  ancient  philosophers  trusted  to  theory  and 
conjecture,  and  so  they  drifted  apart  from  pole  to 
pole  ;  but  to-day  we  put  our  questions  to  Xature  her 
self,  and  we  do  not  let  her  rest  until  she  says  yea  or 
nay. 

*'  "Will  you  go  into  the  laboratory  and  see  the 
wrecks  which  my  failures  have  left  <" 

"Failures?  do  you  ever  fail  f 

*•  A  hundred  times  where  I  succeed  once." 

Madeline  was  astonished,  but  glad.  An  Ant/tro- 
podaimon  would  never  fail. 

There  were  broken  retorts  and  galvanic  cells  lined 
with  many-colored  incrustations,  blow-pipes,  cupels, 
dialyzers,  meters  of  all  kinds — all  the  paraphernalia 


230  A   DEMIGOD. 

of  a  chemist's  workshop,  which  showed  in  what 
manner  many,  man}'  hours  of  the  recluse's  life  had 
been  spent.  At  the  base  of  the  tall  chimney  was  a 
large  furnace  of  strange-looking  material  and  elabo 
rate  construction. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  a  very  hot  fire  here  some 
times,"  remarked  Madeline. 

"  So  hot  that  no  unprotected  eyes  could  endure  its 
brilliancy." 

"Pray  how  do  you  make  it  so  hot?  Oh,  you 
needn't  hesitate  to  explain  it  to  me,"  she  added, 
laughing ;  "  I  am  a  graduate  of  a  Boston  school,  you 
know.  A  Boston  school-girl  is  supposed  to  know  all 
about  protoplasm  and  differentiation,  all  about  cen 
tral  forces,  the  possible  utilization  of  one  hundred 
per  cent,  of  molecular  energy,  and  all  such  matters." 

lie  regarded  her  in  amused  astonishment.  "Ah," 
he  said,  at  length,  "you  are  going  to  surprise  me 
more  than  I  have  been  able  to  surprise  you." 

"  Oh  no,  I  can  only  talk,  which  is  very  different 
from  doing.  Please  go  on  ;  how  do  you  make  your 
fire  so  hot?" 

"  It  is  very  easy.  You  have  only  to  seize  the  oxy 
gen  at  the  instant  of  its  evolution  from  a  compound 
in  which  it  is  abundant,  and  cause  it  to  combine  at 
that  instant  with  its  exact  equivalent  of  hydrogen  in 
the  same  nascent  state.  In  the  ordinary  oxhydrogen 
flame  both  elements  have  assumed  their  quiescent 
state  before  combustion,  which,  of  course,  immense 
ly  reduces  the  energy  of  re-combination." 

"  Yes ;  I  understand  perfectly.     That  is  the  ideal 


THE   LABORATORY.  237 

heat-producing  flame.  Oh,  you  have  no  idea  what  a 
chemist  I  am — in  theory." 

"That  is  the  flame  I  make  in  that  furnace.  As 
the  heat  grows  more  and  more  intense,  of  course  the 
energy  of  combination  is  proportionately  intensified, 
and  so  it  goes  on  increasing  its  own  power  almost 
without  limit.  This  device  for  continually  and  en 
tirely  removing  the  waste  products  of  combustion  is 
mine.  The  clay  of  which  the  fire-box  is  made  only 
grows  harder  and  harder.  I  know  not  how  intense 
a  heat  would  be  required  to  fuse  or  vaporize  it. 
This  is  the  baker's  cap  I  wear  when  I  work  here." 

He  took  a  kind  of  helmet  from  a  hook,  and  drew 
it  down  over  his  head,  face,  and  neck — the  eyes  be 
ing  protected  by  thick,  apparently  opaque  circles  of 
glass. 

"  And  what  sort  of  cakes  do  you  bake  ?"  asked 
Madeline. 

"  A  great  many  kinds,"  he  replied,  after  removing 
the  helmet;  "some  useful, some  beautiful, some  only 
curious,  but  the  greater  part  absolutely  worthless.  I 
will  show  you  the  last — what  do  bakers  say  f ' 

"Batch?" 

"  Yes,  batch.  It  is,  as  you  will  see,  both  curious 
and  beautiful.  Look  at  this  fine  black  powder.  I 
wished  to  see  if  it  could  be  crystallized.  I  enclosed 
some  of  it  in  a  crucible  of  that  same  fire-clay,  and 
subjected  it  for  ten  hours  to  the  most  intense  heat  I 
could  produce.  On  opening  the  crucible,  I  saw  that 
the  contents  had  fused,  but  had  solidified  again  into 
a  soft,  spongy  mass  no  more  crystalline  than  at  first. 


238  A  DEMIGOD. 

I  tried  over  and  over  again,  modifying  the  experi 
ment  in  every  conceivable  way.  I  found,  at  length, 
the  trouble.  I  had  allowed  the  liquid  to  cool  too 
rapidly.  It  requires  a  much  longer  time  to  build  up 
the  delicate  structure  of  this  crystal  than  that  of  any 
other.  1  allowed  my  fire  to  cool  only  a  few  degrees 
a  day.  My  servants  relieved  each  other  in  watching 
it  night  and  day  for  many  long,  anxious  weeks.  At 
last  the  supreme  moment  arrived — I  broke  the  cru 
cible  !  I  will  show  you  the  result." 

He  unlocked  the  heavy  iron  door  of  a  vault  that 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  displaying  two  rows 
of  shelves  covered  with  boxes,  bottles,  and  indescrib 
able  objects  in  great  variety.  Taking  out  one  of  the 
boxes,  he  showed  her  a  collection  of  crystals,  large 
and  small,  whose  peculiar  brilliancy  caused  her  to 
look  at  him  in  wondering  inquiry. 

"  Yes,"  he  smiled,  in  answer  to  her  look. 

"  The  black  powder  was — 

"  Pure  carbon." 

"And  these  are  diamonds?" 

"  Pure  and  without  flaw." 

"  But — but — "  she  replied,  breathlessly,  "  you  said 
they  were  only  curious  and  beautiful.  Why — they 
are  a  fortune — an  enormous  fortune !" 

"  To  sell  ?  yes,  I  suppose  so.  But  they  will  never 
be  sold.  If  men  would  only  admire  and  enjoy  their 
beauty,  I  should  be  glad  to  let  them  go ;  but  men 
would,  in  the  first  place,  give  for  them  millions  of 
times  their  real  value,  and  then  they  would  perhaps 
lie,  plot,  fight,  murder  for  them.  Why-fore  should 


THE   SERPENT   UISSES.  239 

I  sell  these  pretty  pebbles  or  give  them  away  ? 
Their  practical  usefulness  is  very  slight.  Their 
beauty  is  great,  it  is  true,  but  not  great  enough  to 
compensate  for  the  mischief  they  would  cause.  I 
will  not  sell  them.  I  should  be  like  the  man  of  civ 
ilization  who  takes  from  the  poor,  simple  savages 
their  ivory  and  their  furs,  and  gives  them  only  a  few 
glittering,  worthless  beads  in  return.  Neither  shall 
1  give  them  a-vay ;  I  will  not  open  this  Pandora's 
box  to  the  world.  They  shall  remain  for  the  pres 
ent  on  my  shelf,  a  shining  trophy  of  my  victory  over 
nature.  When  you  are  all  my  own,  it  will  not  be  a 
gift  to  you,  it  will  be  only  conferring  upon  you  your 
riyht  to  place  these  and  all  else  I  have  in  your  keep 
ing.  Ah,  you  are  a  woman  !"  he  added,  laughing,  as 
she  clasped  her  hands  together  in  uncontrollable  de 
light.  "  Your  eyes  are  brighter  than  these  worthless 
pdbbles.  But,  remember,  iny  beautiful  one,  you  are 
not  to  be  Pandora  I" 


XY1II. 

THE   SERPENT   HISSES. 

IF  we  have  forgotten  poor  Tsaras,  his  late  com 
panions  in  misfortune  had  not.  Many  were  the 
speculations  as  to  his  probable  fate.  Sometimes  they 
were  inclined  to  the  opinion  that  he  had  dealt  treach 
erously  with  them.  Several  little  circumstances,  be 
sides  the  suspicious  exchange  of  glances  between  him 
L6 


240  A  DEMIGOD. 

and  Peschino  which  Madeline  had  observed  during 

O 

lier  "  examination,"  seemed  to  point  tliat  way.  Gen 
erally,  however,  they  were  disposed  to  believe  that 
these  circumstances  were  merely  fortuitous  and  with 
out  significance,  and  they  blamed  themselves  for  ever 
harboring  ungenerous  doubts  of  his  honor  and  fidel 
ity.  It  must  not  be  supposed  that  their  solicitude  or 
that  of  their  host  concerning  him  was  manifest  in 
mere  speculations.  Strange  as  it  may  appear  to  in 
habitants  of  well-ordered  America,  there  was  little 
greater  difficulty  in  communicating  with  the  brigands 
than  with  the  most  law-abiding  citizens  of  that 
anomalous  country.  Letters  passed  to  and  fro  under 
a  sort  of  postal  system  skilfully  contrived  to  secure 
absolute  safety  to  the  outlaws.  Offers  were  made  to 
release  the  remaining  prisoner  upon  terms  which  Vyr 
would  not  allow  the  major  to  accept.  "  I  have  made 
a  vow,"  he  said  to  him,  on  one  occasion,  "  that,  if  I 
can  prevent  it,  the  klephts  shall  never  receive  a 
drachma  of  ransom.  I  will  try  again  to  rescue  your 
friend ;  but  I  really  do  not  believe  he  is  with  them. 
My  men,  who,  as  you  know,  have  been  always  on  the 
watch  near  their  den  ever  since  you  came  here,  have 
never  seen  such  a  person  as  you  describe.  They  have 
either  released  him  already,  or  they  have  taken  him 
so  far  away  that  it  is  hopeless  to  try  to  rescue  him  by 
force.  You  may  be  assured  that  they  will  riot  harm 
him  before  the  time  they  have  appointed ;  and  that 
is  far  enough  away  at  present.  If,  when  that  time 
conies,  it  is  your  choice  to  pay  to  them  what  they  de 
mand,  why,  I  suppose  I  cannot  prevent  you.  I  sup- 


THE   SERPENT   HISSES.  241 

pose  I  should  do  the  same  if  I  were  you,  and  in  your 
situation.  But,''  he  added,  resolutely,  "  it  is  i\i\&  final 
i/i,'l<lhifj  that  does  all  the  mischief.  If  the  friends 
of  the  first  captives  had  let  them  die  rather  than 
yield,  brigandage  would  have  been  strangled  in  its 
birth,  and  those  martyrs  would  have  done  Greece 
more  good  than  Zaimis,  with  all  his  Greek  and  Ba 
varian  troops." 

At  last  all  doubt  and  solicitude  were  set  at  rest  in 
a  very  unexpected  manner. 

One  day,  shortly  after  dinner,  the  three  Americans 
were  seated  by  themselves  on  the  veranda,  when  they 
saw  a  well-known  figure  climbing  up  the  steep  ascent, 
accompanied  by  one  of  the  bridge  guards. 

"Consultation  of  the  United  States!"  exclaimed 
the  major,  "it's  old  Tsiiras  himself!"  and  he  ran 
down  to  meet  him  with  out-stretched  hands.  "What 
—where  in  the  name  of  Jupiter  Jones  did  you  come 
from?  How  did  you  get  away  from  those  hell- 
vomited  rattlesnakes?" 

The  little  professor's  reception  of  this  effusive 
greeting  was  remarkably  cool,  considering  the  cir 
cumstances.  "  Monsieur  Paul,"  he  said,  with  stately 
Greek  politeness,  "  I  am  mos'  happee  that  I  mit  you 
once  more  again  as  a  free  man.  I  will  give  to  you 
the  explanation  of  myself  when  I  shall  see  my  other 
friends,  the  companions  of  my  captivitee.  Ah,  mes- 
dames,"  as  they  came  tripping  and  stumbling,  but 
with  beaming  faces,  down  the  slope,  "permiss  me 
that  I  shall  congratulate  you.  You  see,"  turning 
back  to  the  major,  "that  1  have  not  lead  you  into 


242  A   DEMIGOD. 

those  '  hell-of-scraape,'  as  you  have  say  to  me,  after 
all." 

The  unblushing  impudence  with  which  he  thus 
accredited  himself  with  the  results  of  Hector  Vyr's 
prowess  somewhat  cooled  their  enthusiasm.  "  Never 
mind  that  now,"  the  major  replied,  "  tell  us  how  you 
fared  after  we  left  you  ;  how  you  managed  to  make 
your  escape,  and  all  about  it." 

"After  you  lef  me  —  aah,  Monsieur  Paul,  your 
eyes  did  not  turn  ba,ck  one  little  look  for  poor 
Tearas!" 

"  Oh,  come  now,  professor,  you  couldn't  expect — 
why  weren't  you  with  us,  as  you  ought  to  have  been  ? 
Why" — here  his  voice  grew  harsher,  and  his  face 
more  red — "  why  had  you  been  systematically  cutting 
us  for  a  week  at  a  time  ?  hey  ?" 

"  0  Thcemou!"  cried  Tsaras,  raising  his  hands  in 
indignant  remonstrance,  "  that  is  one  mos'  horrible 
slander  !  I  have  never  cut  you  one  little  scrratch  !" 

"Nonsense.  I  mean  why  did  you  avoid  us — run 
away  from  us  ?" 

"  Oh,  aah — not  cut  you  with  knaifes?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"But — what  for  did  you  have  suspicion  for  me, 
Monsieur  Paul  ?  eh  ?" 

"  Who  told  you  that  ?"  the  major  asked,  sharply. 

"  Youvfaaces  have  tell  me — your  eyes,  which  look 
at  me  under  the  brow.  I  am  not  a  chorikos  of  the 
ground ;  I  am  a  man  of  educaation  with  honorable 
proudness,  Monsieur  Paul.  I  know  ver'  well  what 
you  thing  of  me :  you  thing  I  was  maiike  barrgain 


THE  SERPENT  HISSES.  243 

with  Peschino.  Aali,  it  was  mos'  horrible,  unjus' 
suspicion  !" 

The  proud,  manly  way  in  which  the  olive  check 
flushed  and  the  graceful  little  figure  straightened  up, 
extorted  from  the  Americans  a  deeper  respect  than 
they  had  ever  yet  felt  for  their  late  guide. 

Major  Paul  hastened  to  propitiate  him  :  u  I  don't 
think,  my  dear  sir,  that  we  ever  gave  you  any  real 
occasion  for — •" 

"  Aah,  yeas.  The  faiice  spik  more  plain  as  the 
tongue.  1  shall  tell  to  you  the  whole  truth.  I 
perrcive  that  Peschino  was  fascinaiite  with  beauti 
ful  Miss  Paul.  If  she  shall  smaile  a  little,  she  can 
maiike  him  one  fool,  and  he  shall  let  us  all  to 
go.  So  I  spik  to  him  privaiite  a  little  encourage 
ment." 

"Then,"  said  Madeline,  with  scornful,  flashing 
eyes,  "  what  did  you  mean  by  accusing  us  of  unjust 
suspicion  ?" 

"  Pardon,  kurdtza — you  shall  wait  till  I  have  fin 
ish.  I  say  you  can  maiike  him  one  gretfod.  It  is 
not  dishonor  when  you  shall  cheat  the  klepht  which 
try  to  rob  you." 

"  Right,  by  Jupiter  Johnson !"  put  in  the  major. 
"  Give  us  your  hand,  old  dragon  " — his  habitual  short 
for  dragoman.  "  Now  go  on  with  your  story.  How 
did  you  escape  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  the  stoary  to  you.  I  have  maiike 
one  mos'  saiicred  promise  that  I —  You  know,  my 
friends,  when  they  loses  the  big  fishes,  they  throw 
away  the  little  fishes  sometaime." 


244  A   DEMIGOD. 

A  quick  glance  shot  from  eye  to  eye  among  his 
auditors. 

"Aah" — straightening  up  again — "yon  have  sus 
picion.  I  shall  not  talk  to  you.  I  have  come  to 
bring  one  mos'  important  commission  to  Monsieur 
Hector  Vyr.  Will  you  have  the  kaindhood  to  tell 
to  me  where  I  shall  i'aind  him?" 

"  Go  11  j)  on  the  veranda,  sir,"  replied  the  major, 
haughtily,  "and  take  a  seat  there.  Madeline, go  and 
find  Mr.  Vyr." 

When  she  had  gone,  Tsaras,  with -increasing  digni 
ty,  took  from  his  pocket  a  paper,  and  presented  it  to 
Major  Paul.  "Will  you  faiivor  it  with  examinaii- 
tion,  Monsieur  Paul  ?" 

It  was  his  account  to  date  for  services  as  guide 
and  interpreter.  The  major  gazed  upon  it  and  upon 
Tsaras  for  a  moment  in  speechless  amazement.  "I 
should  think,  sir,"  he  said,  when  lie  could  recover  his 
breath,  "  that  you  would,  at  least,  have  waited  until 
you  had  conducted  us  safely  back  to  Athens  before 
you  had  the  audacity  to  give  me  this." 

"Pardon" — with  a  low  bow — "it  was  the  agree- 

o 

ment  that  you  shall  pay  to  me  every  wik.     It  is 
now — " 

"Why,  contaminate  your  insolence,  you  bowing, 
scraping  Greek  harlequin  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  You 
lead  us  into  the  lions'  den,  and  then  bring  in  your 

uur 

"You  shall  not  forget  that  /  fall  in  the  laions' 
den  too,  also,"  retorted  Tsaras. 

The  major  was  so  choked  by  his  disgust  and  choler 


THE   SEHPENT   HISSES.  045 

at  this  absurd  rejoinder,  that  lie  could  only  grow 
inoiv  red  in  the  face  and  wildly  gesticulate. 

I!ut  Miss  Wellington  spoke  for  him:  "You  de 
serve  to  stay  there,  sir,  for  attempting  so  dangerous 
an  undertaking,  knowing  as  you  must  your  utter  in 
competence.  If  you  were  willing  to  risk  your  own 
life,  you  had  no  right  to  risk  ours." 

AVhile  Tsdras  was  replying  in  his  characteristic 
way,  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  tall,  majestic  figure  stand 
ing  upon  the  veranda.  "Aah!"  he  cried,  suddenly 
breaking  off  his  specious  argument,  "at  las'  I  see  the 
wond'ful  Hector  Vyr!  Is  not  he  what  I  have  tell 
you?  is  not  he  prodigce ?  iniriclel  Monsieur  Paul, 
you  shall  make  the  introductions." 

Tsiiras  was  received  with  the  forbidding  digni 
ty,  almost  rudeness,  with  which  the  singular  ascetic 
treated  all  intruding  strangers.  The  rebuff  was  in 
tensely  galling  to  the  sensitive  little  Greek.  lie  col 
ored,  bit  his  lips,  shuffled  from  side  to  side,  but  pres 
ently  plucked  up  spirit  and  ceremoniously  presented 
a  letter. 

"I  have  intruded  upon  you,"  lie  said,  in  his  own 
language,  "  not  on  my  own  account,  but  because  I 
was  sent  to  you  by  a  person  whom  I  believe  you 
know.  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  read  his  letter, 
and  give  me  your  answer,  in  private?" 

AVithout  a  word,  Vyr  led  the  way  to  a  small  room 
which  served  him  as  an  office.  There  he  broke  the 
seal  and  read,  while  the  messenger  stood  vainly  try 
ing  to  still  his  loudly  beating  heart: 


246  A  DEMIGOD. 

"  MIKRO  MAINA,  September  24, 18—. 

"  SIR, — A  short  time  ago  you  rendered  me,  in  com 
mon  with  my  friends,  a  most  signal  service.  I  joined 
them  in  the  expression  of  profound  feeling  which  so 
gallant  and  beneficent  an  act  naturally  awakened. 

"  Since  then,  however,  events  have  occurred  which 
have  released  me  from  my  obligation  to  you,  and 
changed  my  sense  of  gratitude  to  one  of  bitter  in 
dignation.  You  are  the  cause  of  a  disaster,  sir,  which 
to  me  is  far  greater  than  captivity  among  the  klephts. 
From  that  I  might  have  found  other  means  of  re 
lease  than  your  intervention  ;  but  for  the  loss  of  the 
greatest  treasure  man  can  possess,  a  loss  which,  as 
you  must  be  fully  aware,  you  have  inflicted  upon 
me,  there  is  only  one  atonement  in  my  power  to  ask, 
or  in  yours  to  give.  For  tin's,  therefore,  as  well  as 
for  the  insulting  and  threatening  language  you  saw 
tit  to  use  at  our  last  accidental  meeting,  I  hereby  de 
mand  the  atonement  which  you,  as  a  gentleman  and 
a  brave  man,  cannot  refuse. 

"My  friend,  Prof.  Harkos  Tsaras,  has  kindly  con 
sented  to  make  the  necessary  arrangements  with  any 
gentleman  you  may  designate. 
"  I  have  the  honor  to  be 

"  Your  most  obedient  servant, 

"  ROBERT  GRIFFIN. 
"M.  HECTOR  YYR." 

The  look  of  indifference  with  which  Yyr  began 
the  perusal  of  this  letter  changed  to  a  smile  of  inef 
fable  contempt  as  he  read  on,  and  to  a  peal  of  laugh 
ter  as  he  finished. 


THE   SERPENT   HISSES.  047 

"This  poor  angry  fool,"  lie  said,  raising  his  eyes 
to  the  wonder-struck  Tsaras,  "  wishes  to  fight  a  duel 
with  me !" 

Tsaras  bowed. 

"  He  lias  talked  with  you  about  it  ?" 

"He  has." 

"  What  is  his  purpose  ? — does  he  wish  to  kill  me, 
or  does  he  wish  me  to  kill  him  ?" 

"  That  is  a  strange  question,  monsieur." 

"  Answer  it " — authoritatively. 

''  Why,  I  suppose  he  hopes  that  the  fortune  of  bat 
tle  will  favor  him.  It  would  be  no  more  than  nat 
ural." 

"He  assumes  that  I  shall  choose  a  weapon  in  the 
use  of  which  his  skill  is  equal  if  not  superior  to  my 
own  ?" 

"  He  knows  that  Monsieur  Vyr  is  as  generous  as 
he  is  brave." 

"  Ah,  then,  of  course  he  wishes  to  kill  me.    Why  C 

Tsaras  was  writhing  under  the  cool,  penetrating 
eye  and  the  overpowering  presence  of  his  questioner. 
"Will  monsieur  have  the  kindness  to  answer  my 
friend's  letter?"  he  asked,  ruefully. 

"Certainly  not,  until  I  understand  it." 

"Is  it  not  a  sufficient  explanation  in  itself  T 

"  By  no  means.  It  does  not  reveal  the  writer's  mo 
tive." 

"Pardon;  but  is  not  that  his  own  affair  r' 

"No  more  his  than  mine,  if  I  am  to  assist  him. 
lie  cannot  tight  this  duel  alone,  my  friend  ;  and  if  I 
am  to  be  his  accomplice,  I  must  know  whether  his 


248  A   DEMIGOD. 

motive  be  tight  or  wrong.  I  ask  you  again,  why  does 
lie  wisli  to  kill  me  ?" 

"  Surely  his  letter  explains  the  cause  of  offence." 

"  You  imply  that  his  motive  is  revenge.  If  so,  I 
will  not  help  him  to  gratify  so  base  a  passion.  If  I 
have  done  him  any  wrong,  I  will  repair  it  in  a  man 
ly,  sensible  way.  You  may  say  to  him  this:  '  Mr. 
Griffin,  in  a  moment  of  ungovernable  passion,  of 
which  I  am  ashamed,  I  threatened  to  tear  you  to 
atoms.  I  explained  to  you,  a  few  minutes  after 
wards,  that  this  was  the  speech  of  a  madman,  and  I 
asked  your  forgiveness.  That  is  enough.  I  did  not 
carry  out  my  threat,  and  the  breath  I  breathed  out 
I  breathed  in  again.  Afterwards  I  told  you  that 
though  you  had  the  tongue  of  a  man  you  had  the 
soul  of  a  reptile.  These  words  were  figurative,  it  is 
true,  but  their  import  was  truth ;  so  there  can  be  no 
wrong  in  them,  and  hence  no  reparation  is  due.' " 

"  I  suppose,"  interrupted  Tsiiras,  now  quite  re 
stored  to  equanimity  by  the  quiet,  argumentative 
tone  which  the  conversation  had  assumed — "I  sup 
pose  you  will  admit  that  to  be  a  matter  of  opinion." 

"Assuredly.  I  speak  only  my  own  opinions.  I 
am  not  responsible  for  those  of  other  men." 

"  But  one  man's  opinion  may  be  grossly  insulting 
to  another — at  least  its  expression  may  be." 

"  No.  If  it  is  truth,  it  is  no  insult.  If  it  is  an  error 
made  in  good  faith,  it  is  an  injustice,  which  a  just 
man  will  correct  as  soon  as  he  is  convinced.  Let  Mr. 
Griffin  prove  to  me  that  I  was  in  error,  and  I  will 
hasten  to  acknowledge  it." 


THE  SERPENT  HISSES.  249 

"And  so,"  cried  Tsaras,  pleased  and  astonished  at 
his  own  boldness,  and  the  "  wond'fnl "  Hector  Vyr's 
condescension — "  and  so  any  man  is  justified  in  say 
ing  any  outrageous  thing  he  chooses  to  another,  pro 
vided  he  thinks  it  is  the  truth,  although  his  judg 
ment  may  be  warped  by  anger,  malice,  prejudice, 
misinformation,  jealousy,  or  stupidity  !" 

"  Others  may  respect  or  despise  his  opinions  as  they 
see  fit,"  replied  Vyr.  "  Your  friend  Mr.  Griffin  has 
this  freedom  in  respect  to  mine.  If  my  contempt 
for  him  is  the  fault  of  my  imperfect  judgment,  he 
may  despise  it  as  a  thing  of  no  significance." 

"  Suppose  a  man  insults  you  by  saying  to  you  what  he 
himself  does  not  believe  to  be  true'?''  suggested  Tsaras. 

"  Such  a  man  is  but  an  idle  babbler,  not  worthy  of 
mv  notice.  If  Mr.  Griffin  thinks  I  have  done  so  to 
him,  he  may  regard  me  in  that  light." 

Tsaras  looked  far  from  satisfied,  but  made  no  re 
ply.  Vyr  went  on : 

"There  is  one  respect  in  which  I  freely  acknowl 
edge  that  I  have  done  Mr.  Griffin  injustice.  I  said 
to  his  cousin  Miss  Paul  that  he  had  not  the  courage 
to  use  the  weapons  lie  bears.  I  also  said  to  her  that 
I  could  scare  him  away  with  a  look.  I  am  convinced 
that  this  was  an  error." 

"May  I  ask  if  these  things  were  said  in  his  li ear 
ing  '.**  asked  Tsaras,  curiously. 

"No.  And  it  is  this  I  most  regret.  You  may  say 
so  to  him,  Monsieur  Tsaras.  And  now  I  believe  I 
have  made  full  reparation  for  all  the  wrong  I  have 
done  him." 


250  A   DEMIGOD. 

"  The  tilings  we  have  been  speaking  of  are  trifles," 
said  Tsaras,  as  if  the  thought  had  just  occurred  to 
him.  "  You  make  no  mention  of  the  great  grievance 
of  all — the  disaster  which  he  says  you  have  caused, 
far  greater  to  hiwi  than  the  captivity  from  which  you 
released  him." 

"  I  have  not  mentioned  it,  simply  because  there  is 
no  wrong  to  acknowledge  nor  difficulty  to  explain. 
Mr.  Griffin  needs  no  words  from  me  to  understand 
that,  when  he  charges  me  with  robbing  him  of  the 
greatest  treasure  man  can  possess,  lie  is  what  I  have 
called  an  idle  babbler,  not  worthy  of  notice.  He 
says  what  he  himself  does  not  believe.  Can  a  man 
lose  what  he  has  never  possessed  ?  What  no  man  al 
ready  possesses,  is  it  not  free  to  any  man  to  win  if  he 
can  ?  No  wrong  has  been  done  here,  and  hence  no 
reparation  is  called  for.  Why,  then,  I  still  ask,  does 
lie  thirst  for  my  blood  ?  If  it  is  to  gratify  an  unrea 
soning  revenge,  I  refuse  to  be  his  accomplice. 

"But  perhaps  it  is  hope.  Perhaps  he  imagines 
my  death  will  give  him  the  treasure  of  which  he 
thinks  my  life  deprives  him.  You  may  tell  him, 
Monsieur  Tsaras,  h'rst,  that  such  a  hope  is  futile, 
for  the  murderous  deed  would  only  drive  that  treas 
ure  farther  than  ever  from  his  grasp ;  and,  secondly, 
that  such  a  motive  is  no  better  than  that  of  the 
klepht,  who  also  murders  that  he  may  gain.  In 
such  a  business  I  shall  never  participate. 

"  There  is  only  one  other  supposition  possible : 
that  he  wishes  me  to  kill  him.  This,  of  course,  is 
extremely  improbable ;  but  even  if  it  were  the  true 


TIIE   SERPENT   HISSES.  251 

one,  I  could  not  gratify  him  ; .  unless,  indeed,  ho 
should  enroll  himself  among  the  klephts,  and  thus 
give  me  the  sanction  of  the  law." 

"And  this,  Mr.  Vyr,  is  your  final  answer?" 

"  It  is  my  only  answer." 

"Would  you  not  like" — hesitatingly — "to  think 
of  it  for  twenty-four  hours  ?" 

"  No.  Why  should  I  ?  It  is  a  very  simple  mat 
ter — there  is  nothing  more  to  think  of." 

"Very  well,  then.  Will  you  kindly  write  a  line, 
that  my  friend  may  be  in  no  doubt  as  to  your 
decision  2" 

"He  will  not  believe  your  word  ?"  asked  Vyr,  with 
a  smile. 

"  It  is  more  business-like." 

Vyr  laughed  outright.  "You  call  it  business? 
Well,  I  will  humor  you." 

He  took  a  scrap  of  paper,  and  dashed  off,  in  a  big, 
round,  black  hand, 

"  MR.  GRIFFIN, — I  have  read  your  letter  of  to-day. 
My  answer  to  your  demand  is  no. 

"  HECTOR  VYR. 
"My  Jwuse,  Sept.  34, 18—." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Tsaras,  folding  the  paper  care 
fully  and  putting  it  in  his  pocket.  "1  will  now 
take  my  leave ;  but  my  friend  may  send  me  back." 

"It  would  be  a  waste  of  time.  However,  you 
shall  be  admitted,  as  you  were  this  morning." 

In  a  few  hours  Tsaras  returned  with  the  following 
letter: 


253  A  DEMIGOD. 

"  MIKKO-MAINA,  September  24, 18 — . 

"  SIR, — Your  insultingly  short  reply  to  my  letter 
of  this  morning  has  been  handed  me  by  my  friend, 
Prof.  Tsaras.  In  it  you  decline  to  give  me  the 
satisfaction  I  have  an  undoubted  right  to  demand. 
In  its  stead  you  offer  me,  by  word  of  mouth,  only  a 
specimen  of  that  peculiar  philosophy  in  which  you 
evidently  take  so  much  pride.  Permit  me,  there 
fore,  to  say  that  such  conduct  is  no  more  in  keeping 
with  the  character  which  you  have  hitherto  main 
tained  for  courage,  than  your  recent  treatment  of 
myself  is  in  keeping  with  the  honor  and  magnanimi 
ty  of  a  gentleman.  I  shall  lose  no  opportunity  of 
setting  you  in  your  true  light  before  the  public,  be 
fore  which  you  have  been  so  successfully  posing  as  a 
prodigy  of  valor,  and  before  my  personal  friends, 
upon  whose  good  opinion  you  place  so  high  a  value. 

"  Permit  me  further  to  say  that  you  will  not  es 
cape  with  this  punishment  alone. 
"  I  have  the  honor  to  be 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"  ROBERT  GRIFFIN. 
"M.  HECTOR  VYB." 

The  same  changing  expressions  passed  over  Vyr's 
face,  as  he  read  through  this  ferocious  epistle,  that 
its  predecessor  had  called  forth. 

"  Take  this  back  to  your  friend,"  he  said,  "  and 
thank  him  for  me  for  the  amusement  it  has  afforded 
me." 

"  You  are  a  remarkable  man,  indeed !"  muttered 
Tsaras,  half  to  himself. 


TUB  SERPENT  HISSES.  253 

"Why?  because  I  laugh?  I  suppose  it  is  cruel. 
I  ought  to  feel  only  compassion.  Your  friend  has 
been  unfortunate,  and  is  very  unhappy.  I  would 
express  my  sympathy  for  him,  but  you  know  very 
well  it  would  only  be  rejected.  I  cannot  feel  fright 
ened  by  his  terrible  words,  so  nothing  remains  but  to 
be  amused  by  them." 

"I  was  instructed,"  said  Tsaras,  with  formality, 
"  to  ask  you,  for  the  last  time,  will  you  give  Mr.  Grif 
fin  the  satisfaction  he  demands?" 

"  Why  is  that  asked  again  ?"  returned  Vyr,  with 
the  first  sign  of  real  intolerance  he  had  yet  shown. 
"Have  I  not  told  him  plainly?  He  has  the  satisfac 
tion  of  having  challenged  me.  He  is  therefore  en 
titled  to  all  the  credit — whatever  it  may  be — of  an 
actual  encounter.  It  is  no  fault  of  his  that  I  will 
not  descend  to  the  idiotic  barbarism  of  a  prearranged 
duel.  He  may  enjoy  the  further  satisfaction  of 
branding  Hector  Vyr  as  a  coward,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  additional  punishment  he  says  ho  has  in  store 
for  him.  What  more  can  he  ask  ?  Come,  my  friend, 
this  interview  has  been  sufficiently  prolonged.  It 
is  only  the  genuine  sorrow  I  feel  for  Mr.  Griffin 
that  has  made  me  patient  all  this  time.  You  may 
go  now." 

And  although  V}rr  made  no  movement,  yet  it  al 
most  seemed  to  Tsaras  as  if  he  were  taken  up  bodily 
and  carried  out  by  some  invisible  power. 


254  A  DEMIGOD. 


XIX. 

THE    SERPENT    STINGS. 

AFTER  Tsaras  had  finally  gone,  Major  Paul  and 
his  friends  anxiously  waited  for  some  intimation  as 
to  the  nature  of  the  business  which  their  absent  kins 
man  had  to  transact  with  Hector  Vyr.  The  latter 
made  no  reply,  however,  to  their  inquiring  looks,  but, 
after  a  few  commonplace  remarks  about  the  long- 
continued  absence  of  rain,  and  the  effect  upon  his 
crops — with  scarcely  a  glance  at  Madeline — he  start 
ed  to  return  to  his  field.  The  major  saw  the  startled, 
wounded  look  upon  Madeline's  pale  face,  and,  spring 
ing  up  with  sudden  determination,  followed  him. 
Vyr  saw  him  coming,  and  smilingly  waited. 

"Mr.  Vyr,"  said  the  major,  "is  the  matter  between 
you  and  my  nephew  one  that  I  have  a  right  to  know 
about  ?" 

"  You  may  know  it  if  you  wish,  though  it  is  not 
essential  that  you  should.  It  affects  neither  youv 
daughter  nor  yourself,  and  I  do  not  wish  the  slightest 
hint  of  it  to  reach  her.  In  reality,  it  affects  only  Mr. 
Griffin  himself.  He  has  sent  me  a  challenge." 

"  Apotheosis  of  Blazing  Idiots !  I  was  afraid  of 
that." 

"  Why-fore  afraid,  Mr.  Paul  ?" — with  a  smile — 
"you  paid  a  very  poor  compliment  to  my  self-re- 


THE   SERPENT  STINGS.  055 

spect,  intelligence,  or  humanity,  if  you  supposed  for 
one  instant  that  I  should  accept.  I  should  ill  fuliil 
my  mission  if  I  consented  to  an  act  which  belongs  to 
an  inferior  stage  in  the  development  of  civilized  man, 
and  beyond  which,  thank  Heaven,  he  has  already  ad 
vanced.  My  mission  is  to  go  forward,  not  back 
ward." 

"  Poor  Robert !  I  don't  suppose  he  really  knew 
what  he  was  about.  He  is  in  great  trouble,  Mr.  Vyr." 

"  I  know  that ;  and  I  pity  him  from  my  heart ; 
but  I  could  not  give  to  him  what  fate  has  refused 
him,  even  if  I  would. 

"  Mr.  Paul " — stopping  and  speaking  with  slow, 
intensely  earnest  utterance  —  "until  lately  I  had  but 
one  great  object  in  existence.  To  that  object  1  have 
sworn  to  devote  my  life  and  energies.  I  shall  keep 
my  oath,  at  least  its  letter:  its  spirit  compels  me  to 
seek  in  marriage  the  most  perfect  example  of  woman 
hood  fortune  brings  to  my  knowledge.  With  no 
direct  thought  of  my  oath,  I  found  myself  plunged 
into  a  love  for  your  daughter  which  has  swallowed 
up  my  soul  as  the  ocean  would  ingulf  my  body. 
With  unutterable  joy  I  became  convinced  that  my 
coolest  judgment  could  not  choose  better  than  my 
heart  had  already  chosen.  We  have  spoken  our  love 
to  each  other,  and  you  have  not  frowned  upon  us. 
But  now  my  great  object  in  life  has  sunk  almost  into 
insignificance  in  comparison  with  another  —  that  of 
securing  for  my  beloved  the  greatest  possible  degree 
of  happiness  of  which  she  is  capable.  To  this  I  feel 
as  if  I  could  sacrifice  all  others,  except  the  preserva- 
17 


256  A   DEMIGOD. 

tion  of  honor.  I  have  read  of  man's  love  for  woman 
in  poems  and  tales ;  but  mine  is  not  like  that.  That 
demands  love  for  love,  like  the  payment  of  a  debt  to 
the  uttermost  farthing.  It  demands  possession  at  all 
hazards.  It  is  not  love  ;  it  is  the  greed  of  a  devour 
ing  dragon.  But  mine  demands  above  all  other  things 
the  choicest  blessings  that  Heaven  can  bestow  upon 
her  beloved  head.  My  own  happiness  I  could  throw 
into  the  scale  as  a  willing  sacrifice,  if  it  would  enhance 
hers — that  would  not  be  sacrificing  my  happiness,  it 
would  be  insuring  it — I  could  yield  possession  of  her, 
I  mean,  and  live  in  contentment,  if  I  knew  that  there 
by  she  would  be  more  blessed  than  with  me.  Mr, 
Paul,  tell  me  from  your  heart  of  hearts,  do  you.  be 
lieve  she  would  lead  a  happier  life  without  me  in  her 
own  country  than  with  me  in  these  wilds  ?" 

This  solemn  appeal,  delivered  with  an  intensity  of 
feeling  the  major  had  never  before  imagined,  almost 
stopped  his  pulses.  He  knew  not  what  to  say.  At 
length  he  stammered : 

"  But — but,  if  my  darling  Madeline  is,  as  you  say, 
the  finest  example  of  womanhood  you  expect  to  meet 
—how  are  you  going  to — what  about  your  oath,  Mr. 
Vyr  ?" 

"  Its  language  is  simply  negative ;  it  does  not  com 
pel  me  to  marry,  it  only  obliges  me  to  avoid  allying 
myself  with  mental,  moral,  or  physical  deficiency. 
And  it  is  better  that  the  lineage  should  end  with  Hec 
tor  Vyr,  than  that  he  should  transmit  to  posterity  the 
smallest  gerrn  of  the  greedy,  selfish  passion  which 
goes  under  the  name  of  Love.  If  it  is  not  love  itself, 


THE   SERPENT  STINGS.  257 

pure,  self-sacrificing,  heavenly — preferring  the  wel 
fare  of  its  object  to  all  other  things,  even  a  posterity 
that  it  would  otherwise  debase — far  better  that  it 
should  die !" 

Major  Paul  looked  at  him  with  an  admiration 
amounting  to  awe.  "  I  cannot  answer  for  Madeline," 
he  replied,  in  a  voice  shaken  by  his  emotions  ;  "  but, 
if  she  does  not  prefer  such  devotion  from  such  a 
source  to  a  thousand  Bostons,  she  is  unworthy  of  you. 
That's  all  I  can  say,  Mr.  Vyr."  And  he  turned  and 
marched  away,  as  if  he  were  on  parade. 

"  Mr.  Paul." 

The  major  halted  and  faced  about. 

"Not  a  word  of  this  to  her" 

"No,  Mr.  Vyr." 

As  Vyr  went  on  his  way  alone,  he  mused  : 

"Poor  dove!  I  have  played  upon  her  wonder  and 
gratitude  until  she  is  in  my  toils,  and  cannot  escape 
if  she  would.  Does  she  not  even  now  secretly  regret 
that  her  love  for  me  will  exile  her  from  her  home, 
notwithstanding  all  I  have  promised  her  in  return  ? 
Will  all  I  can  do  compensate  her  for  the  sacrifice? 
That  poor,  foolish  young  man  loves  her  well  enough 
to  throw  away  his  life  for  her.  lie  deserves  a  better 
fate,  mean-spirited  as  I  thought  him.  Can  it  be  that 
her  heart  might  have  softened  to  him  if  she  had  never 
fallen  in  my  way,  and  that  she  might  have  lifted  him, 
if  not  to  her  own  level,  at  least  to  one  of  harmony 
and  mutual  happiness  I  Would  it  be  better  for  her, 
after  all,  if  she  could  cease  loving  me?  Could  she 
cease  loving  me  if  she  thought  I  had  ceased  lov- 


358  A  DEMIGOD. 

ing  her?  Would  it  be  cruel  to  put  lier  to  the 
test?1' 

Thus  he  renewed  the  battle  with  himself,  till,  iron- 
nerved  as  he  was,  the  sweat  stood  in  great  drops  on 
his  brow. 

"When  he  returned  at  rapper-time,  his  manner  tow 
ards  Madeline  was  that  of  a  ceremonious  host,  noth 
ing  more.  Throughout  the  short  evening  he  main 
tained  the  same  unlover-like  reserve.  He  seemed  to 
have  entirely  forgotten  the  tender  scenes  that  had 
taken  place  between  them.  She,  poor  girl,  besides 
being  chilled  to  the  heart  by  his  changed  manner,  was 
devoured  with  anxiety  in  regard  to  the  mysterious 
"  commission  "  of  Tsaras.  But  she  would  not  speak 
— not  she ;  she  sat  with  proud  indifference,  occasion 
ally  chatting  with  her  father  and  aunt,  until  she  final 
ly  rose  to  say  "  good-night." 

Yyr  followed  her  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  but  he 
offered  her  no  embrace ;  there  was  no  tenderness  in 
his  look,  no  lingering  pressure  of  her  hand,  only  a 
little  tremor  in  his  voice,  as  he  said,  "Good- night, 
Madeline.  May  your  sleep  be  as  sweet  as  your  soul 
is  pure." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Yyr.  I  always  sleep  sweetly. 
Good-night." 

She  walked  up-stairs  with  a  firm,  steady  step,  and 
sat  down  at  her  window  to — think. 

And  this  was  her  hero,  the  god  she  had  worshipped ! 
The  change  had  immediately  followed  Tsaras's  visit. 
Robert  had  in  some  vr&j  frigMened  him — him  who 
was  to  scare  the  poor  fellow  away  with  a  look  !  Oh, 


THE   SERPENT   STINGS.  259 

\vliat  a  fall  was  there — what  a  height,  what  a  deptli ! 
Oh,  the  scorn,  the  bitter  self-scorn,  that  stung  her  for 
her  folly,  her  absolute  inanity  ! 

And  yet,  was  it  not  this  very  god,  this  very  pyg 
my,  that  had  dashed  up  to  the  mouth  of  the  lion's 
den,  and,  single-handed,  brought  her  and  hers  away  in 
safety?  Had  she  sinned  unpardonably  against  him 
in  her  thought  ?  If  she  had,  could  she  ever  look  upon 
his  face  again  ?  could  she  ever  dare  to  think  of  him 
again  ? 

Could  it  be  that  Robert  had  tried  to  poison  his 
mind  in  regard  to  her  past  history  ?  No,  no  !  Des 
perate,  passionate,  revengeful  as  he  was,  he  was  her 
cousin,  the  son  of  her  own  mother's  sister.  But,  if 
it  were  possible,  would  Hector  Yyr  believe  him  ? 
Would  he  not  repel  the  slanders  with  unutterable 
contempt,  or  at  least  give  her  the  opportunity  of 
doing  so  ? 

"  May  your  sleep  be  as  sweet  as  your  soul  is  pure." 
"Were  not  these  kind,  beautiful  words  enough,  from 
lips  that  could  utter  falsehood  no  more  than  the 
heavens  could  fall  to  earth  ? 

No,  he  had  repented  his  own  impulsive  haste  ;  he 
had  seen  his  mistake  ;  he  had  taken  her  for  a  divinity 
worthy  of  himself,  and  had  at  last  discovered  that 
she  was  no  more  than  other  women.  And  now  he 
was  sternly,  cruelly  undoing  his  mistake.  Soon  he 
would  unsay  the  words  that  had  lifted  her  soul  to 
paradise. 

And  she  ?     Alas !  she  ought  to  have  known,  if  he 


260  A  DEMIGOD. 

did  not.  It  was,  as  she  had  told  him,  all  a  gorgeous 
dream.  She  was  awaking,  and  she  would  banish  it 
like  other  dreams  from  her  recollection. 

One  day  more  and  she  would  return  with  her 
friends  to  the  solid  earth  beneath  the  clouds,  and  he 
would  never  see  nor  lietir  of  her  again. 

Would  he  think  of  her?  would  he  feel  sorry  that 
he  had  taken,  her  up  in  his  mighty  hand,  like  a  little 
bird,  only  to  dash  her  down  again  ? 

The  livelong  night  brought  her  no  sleep.  In  the 
morning  she  stood  before  her  mirror  until  she  had 
schooled  her  features  to  an  expression  of  calm,  even 
gay  unconcern,  and  then  tripped  down  the  staircase 
with  the  same  lively  air  upon  her  lips  that  had  an 
swered  the  birds  upon  her  n'rst  morning  there.  Vyr 
darted  a  keen  glance  at  her  as  she  entered  the  break 
fast-room,  which  was  lost  upon  her  no  more  than  was 
the  momentary  pallor  on  his  own  face,  or  his  silent 
preoccupation  during  the  meal.  She  chatted  briskly 
about  their  return  to  Athens,  and  the  wonderful  sto 
ries  they  should  have  to  relate  to  their  friends  in  Bos 
ton.  She  even  spoke  of  Robert  as  if  nothing  had 
happened  to  disturb  their  cousinly  friendship,  won 
dered  what  comical  mischief  he  had  been  concocting 
during  his  absence,  and  whether  he  was  not  coming 
to  bid  his  entertainers  good-by.  She  hoped  that  Ma 
dame  Yyr  and  her  son  would,  for  once  at  least,  break 
in  upon  their  ascetic  habits,  and  accept  a  return  of 
their  delightful  hospitality.  It  was  altogether  a  sin 
gular,  one-sided  conversation.  Vyr  looked  and  lis- 


THE   SERPENT  STINGS.  261 

tened  as  if  neither  seeing  nor  hearing.  The  major 
scarcely  uttered  a  word,  but  sat  looking  from  one  to 
another,  wondering  when  the  farce  would  be  over 
and  the  real  play  begin,  when  he  should  be  having 
something  to  say  for  himself.  Madame  Vyr's  face 
wore  a  more  anxious  and  bewildered  look  than  ever. 
Aunt  Eliza  ventured  upon  a  few  non-committal  ob 
servations,  but  Madeline  alone  seemed  to  be  mistress 
of  the  situation. 

Finally,  as  they  were  about  rising  from  the  table, 
Vyr  roused  himself.  "  Mr.  Paul,"  he  said,  "  while  I 
was  at  the  village  yesterday  I  learned  something  that 
I  think  will  interest  you." 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  be  interested,  sir,"  re 
plied  the  major,  a  little  stiffly. 

"  His  Majesty's  Government  has  at  last  listened  to 
the  demands  of  the  American  Minister  in  your  be 
half,  and  has  sent  a«detachment  of  one  hundred  and 
fifty  men  to  rescue  yon  from  the  klephts." 

"  Indeed !  I  am  under  great  obligations  to  his 
Majesty's  Government.  It  was  a  handsome  thing  to 
do.  I  have  said  a  great  many  hard  things  of  that  in 
stitution — I  am  happy  to  retract  'em  all." 

"  They  are  now  in  the  village,"  Vyr  went  on. 
"  Their  commander  has  expressed  a  very  strong  de 
sire  to  meet  you  and  your  friends,  and  to  extend  to 
you  his  congratulations  on  your  not  needing  his  serv 
ices.  If  he  were  not  prevented  by  my  well-known 
inhospitality  to  uninvited  guests,  he  would  doubtless 
have  presented  himself  here  before  this.  I  happened 
to  fall  in  with  him — a  very  good-hearted,  soldierly 


262  A  DEMIGOD. 

fellow — but  I  assure  yon  I  was  glad  to  escape  from 
his  tongue.  lie  could  not  understand  by  once  tell 
ing  that  I  would  not  accept  any  demonstrations  in 
my  honor,  nor  permit  any  to  my  guests  at  my  house. 
I  am  a  bear,  and  it  is  not  only  right  but  necessary 
that  all  who  know  of  me  at  all  should  also  know  this 
of  me." 

"  We  discovered  it  long  ago,"  remarked  Miss  Well 
ington,  facetiously. 

"I  have  not  been  a  bear  to  you,"  replied  Vyr, 
coldly,  "because  you  have  a  perfect  right  to  be  here. 
I  desired  your  society  for  my  own  purposes,  and  I 
invited  you  to  visit  me." 

Soon  after  breakfast,  of  which  Vyr  scarcely  tasted, 
he  proposed  a  last  ramble  through  the  neighboring 
forest.  Madeline  assented  with  cheerful  alacrity,  and 
was  running  to  call  her  father  and  aunt,  when  he 
prevented  her  by  a  decided  "  No." 

She  controlled  the  sudden  throbbing  in  her  breast, 
and  simply  replied,  "  My  father,  at  least,  would  enjoy 
it  as  well  as  I." 

"  As  well  as  you  ?"  thought  Vyr,  giving  her  a  long, 
wistful  look.  "  Are  you  weaned  from  me  so  soon, 
so  easily  ?"  Then  he  said  aloud,  "  I  do  not  invite 
you  for  the  sake  of  mere  enjoyment  to-day,  Madeline. 
I  have  much  to  say  to  you  alone." 

"  Say  it  now  !  here  /"  she  answered,  bravely.  "  I 
insist  upon  your  telling  me  at  once  what  is  wrong  or 
strange." 

"  There  is  nothing  wrong  or  strange  so  far  as  you 


THE    SERPENT  STINGS.  263 

arc  concerned,  /am  the  only  one  in  the  wrong,  and 
it  remains  for  mo  to — do  right." 

"Then  do  right — now!" 

"That  is  what  I  am  trying  to  do,"  he  said,  with 
unutterable  sadness.  "  Come  with  me,  and  I  will  tell 
you  what  the  right  is." 

For  a  few  moments  she  stood  regarding  him  in 
proud  defiance.  lie  moved  slowly  away,  with  his 
great  soft  eye  fixed  steadily  upon  hers.  Against  her 
will  her  feet  followed  him. 

They  went  silently  down  the  narrow,  stony  path 
to  the  deep  ravine  which  they  had  crossed  at  their 
first  approach  to  his  home. 

"  Xot  across  there"  she  said,  firmly. 

"Yes,  Madeline  ;  I  wish  it.     I  have  a  good  reason." 

"Mr.Vyr,  I  \\i\\not!" 

But  she  might  as  well  have  opposed  Fate.  As  if 
lie  had  not  heard  her  last  words,  he  gently  approach 
ed  and  raised  her  unresisting  form  in  his  arms.  The 
angry  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes ;  she  tried  to  speak, 
but  her  tongue  was  paralyzed.  lie  stepped  upon  the 
perilous  bridge.  For  an  instant  she  looked  down 
into  the  frightful  abyss,  and  her  arms  flew  around 
his  neck.  She  felt  convulsive  tremors  darting 
through  his  frame,  and  she  clung  more  closely. 

AVhen  he  set  her  down  on  the  other  side,  the  tears 
still  stood  in  her  eyes.  "  You  are  a  tyrant !"  she 
cried,  with  a  passionate  outburst,  "a  cruel  tyrant!" 

"Am  I?"  he  said,  sorrowfully.  "Forgive  me.  I 
did  not  mean  to  be.  I  did  not  think  you  would  be 
60  frightened.  You  were  not  before.  There  is  no 


2G4  A  DEMIGOD. 

more  danger  now  than  then,  Madeline.  Are  you  an 
gry  because  I  brought  you  here  against  your  will? 
I  will  carry  you  back  again  if  you  command  me,  and 
by-and-by  I  will  tell  you  why-fore  I  brought  you 
here.'1 

She  hesitated,  looked  again  into  the  gulf,  and  re 
coiled.  "  No,"  she  said,  weakly  ;  "  not  now.  Let 
me  rest  a  while." 

"  Poor,  tender  bird  !  I  have  been  cruel.  I  am  not 
fit  to  be  with  you.  I  shall  never  learn  to  be  gentle. 
Here,  darl — here,  Madeline,  rest  under  this  fir.  You 
are  pale,  you  are  trembling.  I  will  not  frighten  you 
any  more.  I  will  obey  you  like  your  slave." 

His  penitence  and  submission  soon  reconciled  her 
to  her  position,  and  she  waited  for  him  to  begin  his 
promised  confession.  But,  intolerable  as  was  her  sus 
pense,  she  was  too  proud  to  betray  the  least  impa 
tience.  She  even  feigned  interest  in  the  natural  ob 
jects  around,  asking  him  for  their  names  and  uses. 

So  perfect  was  her  disguise  that  he  was  complete 
ly  deceived.  "  Ah  !"  he  said  to  himself,  "  how  have 
I  mistaken  this  beautiful,  soulless  creature  !  Her 
heavenly  lips  have  spoken  love  which  I  thought  was 
as  deep  as  the  sea,  but  which  was  only  as  the  foam 
upon  its  surface !  Will  my  heart  ever  recover  from 
this  bitter,  bitter  blight  ?  There  is  nothing  for  me 
to  say — the  work  is  already  done — she  has  forgotten 
why  we  came  here  /" 

The  poor  unsophisticated  soul  even  felt  something 
akin  to  her  own  pride.  He  answered  her  questions 
with  a  clumsy  attempt  at  her  own  indifference  of 


THE   SERPENT   STINGS.  OQ5 

manner.  While  thus  engaged,  his  eye  fell  upon  a 
politary  ant  slowly  dragging  along  the  mutilated  body 
of  a  beetle.  lie  broke  a  dry  twig  in  two,  and  care 
fully  placed  the  pieces  in  its  path,  leaving  a  passage 
too  narrow  for  its  burden  to  pass  through. 

"  What  a  little  fool !"  he  exclaimed,  after  both  had 
watched  its  unavailing  efforts  for  a  while.  "  Why 
doesn't  she  go  around,  where  her  path  is  clear  ?  They 
say  she  knows  almost  as  much  with  her  atom  of  brain 
as  we  do  with  our  three  pounds,  more  or  less.  Let 
us  see  her  prove  it.  Stupid !  doesn't  she  see  the 
beetle  is  too  big  to  go  through  that  little  gate  ?  She 
could  have  carried  it  around  twenty  times  while  she 
has  been  wasting  her  strength  there." 

"Here,  you  poor  little  simpleton,"  said  Madeline, 
"  let  me  help  you."  And  she  pushed  away  one  of 
the  sticks. 

"You  are  no  naturalist,  Miss  Paul,"  said  Vyr, 
with  a  singular,  desolate  smile,  "or  you  would  have 
waited." 

"No,  Mr.  Vyr,  I  have  no  heart  to  experiment — 
even  on  an  insect." 

In  spite  of  her  self-mastery  there  was  something  in 
her  tone  so  unconsciously  accusing,  so  appealing,  that 
it  penetrated  to  his  very  soul.  Not  all  the  eloquence 
of  words  could  have  equalled  the  pathetic  reproach 
of  that  voice.  lie  stood  before  her  a  while,  regarding 
her  in  silence.  Then  he  said,  in  a  low,  humble  tone, 
"Your  rebuke  is  just;  I  have  been  experimenting 
upon  you !'' 

"And  most  cruelly!"  she  burst  forth,  all  her  self- 


266  A  DEMIGOD. 

restraint  giving  way.  "  Could  yon  not  speak  ?  could 
you  not  ask  me  what  you  wished  to  know,  as  you 
promised  to  do  ?" 

"I  promised  to  ask  what  your  lips  could  tell,"  he 
answered,  without  lifting  his  eyes.  "  But  we  do  not 
always  know  our  own  hearts,  Madeline.  I  know 
yours  is  true — Heaven  forgive  me  for  doubting  it 
for  one  instant !  I  know  you  believe  you  could  al 
ways  be  happy  with  me,  even  in  the  life-long  exile  I 
offer  you.  But  'always'  is  a  long  time  ;  'life-long' 
means  throughout  the  heat  of  youth,  throughout  mid 
dle  life,  with  its  cooler  weighing  of  blessings  and  pri 
vations,  throughout  frozen  age.  Love  must  be  a 
chain  as"  well  as  a  garland.  It  may  have  the  beauty 
and  fragrance  of  flowers,  but  it  must  have  also  the 
strength  of  adamant.  A  chain  that  is  to  hold  so  long 
must  be  tried,  Madeline.  If  a  little  strain  can  break 
it  now,  is  it  not  better  that  it  should  be  broken? 
Better  for  you,  I  mean,"  he  added,  with  intense  fer 
vor — "  it  is  of  you  only  that  I  think !" 

"  Strains  will  come  soon  enough  without  our  seek 
ing  for  them,"  retorted  Madeline,  bitterly,  yet  with  a 
gleam  of  tenderness  in  her  reproach.  "  If  your  faith 
in  my  love  is  so  weak  that  you  cannot  trust  it  with 
out  such  cruel  tests,  you  had  better  never  have  sought 
it.  But  are  you  quite  sure  it  is  /,  after  all,  whom 
you  are  testing  ?  Have  you  no  misgiving  lest  you 
may  have  chosen  wrongly  ?  She  whom  you  rescued 
from  the  klephts,  and  whom  your  first  blind  impulse 
exalted  to  your  own  level — have  you,  at  last,  discov 
ered  that  she  is  only  one  of  countless  thousands,  any 


THE   MAJOR'S   RIDE.  267 

one  of  whom  might  have  filled  her  place  in  your 
fancy  to-day,  had  fortune  so  willed  it?  Have  you 
discovered  that  poor  Madeline  Paul  is  not  the  divin 
ity  you  thought  her  ?"  Rising  calm  and  cold  before 
him— "And  is  this  what  you  meant  when  you  said 
you  were  in  the  wrong,  and  were  going  to — do  right?" 
Before  Hector  Yyr,  gazing  entranced  into  her  eyes, 
could  reply,  the  sound  of  a  sudden  rushing  was  heard 
— a  loud  shout — there  was  a  heavy  blow — and  he 
sank  unconscious  at  her  side. 


XX. 

TIIE  MAJOR'S  RIDE. 

THAT  had  taken  place  which,  under  any  other  cir 
cumstances,  would  have  been  impossible.  Eye  and 
ear,  heart  and  soul  completely  enthralled,  there  was 
nothing  to  Hector  Vyr  either  audible  or  visible  be 
yond  the  shade  of  that  fir-tree. 

Peschino  caught  Madeline  in  his  arms,  while  two 
other  brigands  pounced  upon  the  prostrate  form  of 
her  lover.  Her  piercing  shrieks  partially  restored 
Vyr  to  consciousness,  and  a  mighty  spasm  shot 
through  his  body,  throwing  one  of  his  captors  upon 
his  back  and  the  other  to  his  knees.  With  a  curse 
of  rage  and  fear,  Peschino  dropped  his  burden  and 
sprang  to  their  assistance,  fetching  another  blow  upon 
the  bleeding  head  of  his  victim.. 

As  if  in  response  to  Madeline's  agonized  shrieks 


268  A  DEMIGOD. 

for  help,  a  man  came  running  towards  her  from 
among  the  bushes. 

It  was  Robert  Griffin  ! 

"  Thank  God !"  she  cried,  springing  to  him  with 
out-stretched  arms.  "  Oh,  Robert  —  save  him  !  save 
him!" 

At  the  same  instant  a  loud  report  rang  out  among 
the  trees  on  the  other  side  of  the  ravine,  and  one  of 
the  brigands  fell.  The  sentinel  and  two  others  were 
seen  hurrying  down  the  slope. 

"Ferete  ten  mdzi  mas!"  (Bring  her  with  us!) 
shouted  Peschino,  as  he  and  his  men  made  off  with 
their  inanimate  prisoner. 

Griffin  replied  by  a  shot  from  his  revolver  into  the 
air.  Then,  seizing  Madeline's  hand,  he  dragged  her 
towards  the  bridge. 

"  Save  him,  too !  Let  me  go !"  she  cried,  strug 
gling  to  escape. 

"  Hush !"  he  hissed  through  his  teeth  ;  "  the  others 
will  look  out  for  1dm.  Come  along,  I  say !  When 
you're  safe  in  the  house,  we'll  arouse  the  village." 

In  her  frenzy  she  charged  him  with  treachery — 
murder ! 

He  turned  upon  her,  his  face  white  with  fury.  "  Is 
this  your  gratitude,  you  viper !  Are  these  the  words 
you  spoke  to  him  when  he  did  no  more  for  you  than 
I  have  done  this  day  ?" 

Poor  soul !  notwithstanding  that  she  shrank  with 
loathing  from  his  very  sight  and  touch,  uncertainty 
made  her  retract  her  terrible  charges,  and  plead  for 
his  forbearance. 


THE    MAJOR'S    RIDE.  2G9 

It  was  now  she  that  urged  him  forward.  He  was 
obliged  to  strain  every  nerve  to  keep  pace  with  her 
nimble  feet.  The  bridge  was  lying,  as  Vyr  had  left 
it,  over  the  ravine.  Heedless  of  danger  she  crossed 
it,  calling  Griffin  to  follow.  On  she  sped,  up  the 
path  until  the  white  tower  came  in  sight.  The  sen 
tinel's  shot  as  well  as  her  own  shrieks  had  been  heard, 
and  her  father,  with  two  or  three  of  the  servants, 
was  hastening  to  meet  her. 

"What  is  it,  Madge?"  puffed  the  major  —  "for 
Heaven's  sake,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  The  brigands ! — Hector  /"  she  gasped,  seizing  him 
by  his  arms. 

"  "What  do  you  say  ? — the  brigands  have — got — 
Ju 'in  /—got  Hector  Vyrf" 

"  Yes  !  yes !     Save  him  !  oh,  save  him  !" 

Griffin  now  came  up,  and  breathlessly  told  how, 
while  on  his  way  to  join  his  friends  and  say  farewell 
to  the  Yyrs,  he  had  happened  on  the  scene  of  action 
in  the  very  nick  of  time. 

The  major  blessed  him  with  few  but  vigorous 
words.  "We'll  save  him,  too,  Robert,"  he  panted. 
"Rim  up  with  Madge — rouse  everybody — meet  me 
at  the  demarcli's." 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time,  Major  Paul 
reached  the  little  office  of  the  dcmarch  of  Mikro- 
Maina.  Bursting  in  without  ceremony,  he  inquired 
whether  the  detachment  of  troops  had  left  the  vil 
lage. 

His  month  of  language-lessons  with  Peschino  now 
stood  him  in  good  stead. 


270  A  DEMIGOD. 

The  big,  red-faced  Mainote  stared  in  open-mouthed 
wonder.  "Yes,"  lie  managed  to  answer  at  length  ; 
"it  left  this  morning/1 

"  Where  has  it  gone  ?" 

"  Back  to  Athens,  to  report  to  his  Majesty's  Gov 
ernment  the  complete  success  of  the  expedition.  I 
congratulate  you  on  your — " 

"  Where  will  it  stop  for  the  night?" 

"  Probably  at  Peschino-Chorio." 

The  name  startled  the  major.  "  Does  that  place 
belong  to  the  villain  Tin  after?"  he  asked. 

"  The  klepht  ?  No,"  smiled  the  demarch.  "  They 
have  nothing  to  do  with  each  other  that  I  know  of." 

"How  far  is  it  from  here?" 

"  About  six  hours'  journey." 

It  was  nearly  three  o'clock. 

"  A\rho  has  the  swiftest  horse  in  the  village  ?" 

The  demarch  reflected. 

"Mikhalis  Panoutso  has  one  that  is  very  fleet; 
Petros  Maurides  has  another  about  as  good  ;  but, 
Panagliia!  no  one  has  an  animal  that  can  compare 
with  my  own  'Alogon." 

"  Will  you  let  me  have  him  ?" 

"Holy  Virgin  !  no  one  could  hire  my  'Alogon  for 
half  his  entire  value." 

"But  I  will  l)inj  him  of  you  at  double  his  value." 

"  E  eugema  sas  "  (You  are  a  prince).  "  He  would 
be  cheap  at  six  hundred  drachmas." 

"  Have  him  saddled  immediately,"  ordered  the  ma 
jor;  "and,  in  the  mean  time,  write  me  a  letter  of 
introduction  to  the  commander  of  the  detachment : 


THE   MAJORS   RIDE.  271 

Major  Warren  Paul  of  Boston,  TJ.  S.,  late  of  the  —  tli 
lu'iriment  Massachusetts  Volunteers,  recently  rescued 

O  '  v 

from  the  klephts." 

When  his  order  had  been  executed,  he  said,  "  If 
Mr.  Griffin  calls  here —  You  know  him,  I  believe  V 

The  demarch  nodded. 

"  Tell  him  to  wait  for  me  at  the  Kutclmk  inn." 

Mounted  upon  a  large-framed,  powerful  creature, 
Major  Paul  rode  for  dear  life,  stopping  only  to  in 
quire  his  way  as  he  passed  through  one  straggling 
village  after  another. 

For  dear  life?  lie  rode  for  one  whose  happiness 
was  dearer  to  him  than  life — for  the  life  of  another 
worth  to  humanity  a  hundred  of  his  own,  a  life  which 
might  even  then  be  going  out  in  lingering  torture — • 
he  rode  for  sacred  honor,  for  the  payment  of  a  debt 
that  life  to  that  other  or  death  to  himself  only  could 
repay! 

Now  dismounting  to  rest  his  panting  horse  while 
they  climbed  a  steep,  narrow,  crooked  path,  now  ca 
reering  down  the  opposite  incline,  scouring  over  the 
valley,  thundering  across  the  rickety  foot-bridge  that 
spanned  the  stream  in  its  midst,  plunging  into  a  for 
est,  emerging  on  the  other  side — he  at  last,  just  as 
the  sun  was  setting,  dashed  up  to  the  barracks  at 
Prsdiin<»-(  'horio. 

The  officer  of  the  guard  was  called,  who  took 
Major  Paul's  letter  of  introduction,  and  with  elabo 
rate  politriu'ss  Conducted  him  to  headquarters.  His 
•  |»tii»n  then1,  while  it  nrre.-sarilv  pleased  and  en- 
18 


272  A  DEMIGOD. 

couraged  him,  wasted  precious  time.  lie  impatient 
ly  interrupted  it,  therefore,  with  a  statement  of  his 
errand,  which  his  broken  Greek  rendered  forcible,  if 
not  eloquent. 

We  will  attempt  a  free  translation  of  the  conversa 
tion  that  ensued. 

"  I  have  heard  of  this  Hector  Vyr,"  said  the  loch- 
agbs  commanding,  "  even  before  the  gallant  act  which 
anticipated  my  own,  and  for  which  he  so  persistently 
refuses  all  recognition,  official  or  private.  Until  then, 
however,  I  never  believed  the  stories  they  tell  of  him. 
He  shall  be  reported  in  spite  of  himself ;  he  cannot 
help  that.  He  must  be  a  marvel  indeed !  How  is 
it  possible  the  klephts  ever  caught  him  ?" 

"  But  they  have  caught  him !"  fumed  the  major. 
"  And  if  he  is  to  be  rescued  there  is  not  a  moment  to 
lose.  We  must  march  instontly" 

"  My  orders  were—" 

"  Curse  your  orders !  Go  back  to  Athens  without 
striking  a  blow  for  the  man  that  alone  did  your  work 
for  you  and  your  whole  command — if  you  daro !" 

"  Certainly  not.  I  will  despatch  a  courier  without 
delay  to—" 

"  But  he'll  be  dead,  I  tell  you  !  He's  dead  now, 
for  all  I  know.  Come,  my  dear  colonel,  Pll  take  the 
responsibility.  You  shall  run  no  risk.  I  promise 
you  the  influence  of  the  whole  United  States  Gov 
ernment  to  protect  you.  Lose  another  moment  and 
your  head  shall  be  covered  with  infamy,  both  at  homo 
and  abroad.  Suppose  you  are  disciplined — a  thing 
your  minister  will  never  disgrace  himself  by  doing— 


THE   ORDEAL.  373 

what  then?  You  will  have  made  a  glorious  record, 
bulged  a  score  of  kleplits,  perhaps,  to  say  nothing  of 
rescuing  the  man  who  is  an  army  in  himself.  I 
promise  you  success,  colonel.  I've  been  there,  my 
self,  and  will  show  you  the  road  to  victory.  We 
needn't  go  by  the  Flume  at  all.  Great  King  Devil ! 
what  do  you  want?  If  it  is  money — " 

"  Sir  !  this  is  an  insult." 

"  Never  mind.  We'll  settle  it  afterwards.  What 
arc  you  waiting  for  ?  Give  the  order  this  instant,  I 
say  !" 

"Well,  well.  Don't  be  so  furious,  my  friend.  I'll 
venture  it." 

"  Now !  We  must  march  at  once,  and  fight  all 
night  if  necessary  !" 

But  in  spite  of  entreaties  and  threats  the  lochagos 
refused  to  stir  till  morning.  So,  lest  he  might  be 
come  so  incensed  that  he  would  give  up  the  under 
taking  altogether,  the  major  finally  submitted,  though 
he  spent  half  the  night  in  chafing  and  raging  like  a 
caged  animal. 


XXI. 

THE   ORDEAL. 

HECTOR  YYR'S  first  returning  consciousness  was 
that  of  a  terrible  throbbing  pain  in  his  temples, 
the  smell  of  brandy,  a  fiery,  pungent  taste  in  his 
mouth  and  throat,  and  iron  chains  pressing  tightly 
into  his  anus,  wrists.  legs,  and  ankles. 


274  A  DEMIGOD. 

He  drew  a  deep,  gasping  breath  and  opened  his 
eyes.  He  was  lying  on  a  pallet  in  a  rude  hut.  The 
pillow  was  red  with  blood  from  his  head.  A  dozen 
faces  were  glaring  at  him  in  savage  exultation. 

"Go!''  he  heard  a  loud  voice  say;  "every  man  to 
his  quarters." 

Reluctantly  the  brigands  withdrew,  leaving  their 
captain  alone  with  his  prisoner. 

"  So  I  have  you  at  last !" 

"  Yes.     You  have  my  body." 

"  That's  all  I  want.  As  for  the  rest  of  you,  the 
devil  may  have  it  and  be  welcome — he'll  soon  get  it," 
with  a  ferocious  laugh. 

O 

"  You  are  happy  now,  are  you  not  ?"  asked  Vyr. 
His  voice  was  so  changed  by  the  first  great  physical 
shock  he  had  ever  suffered,  that  he  almost  wondered 
wrhether  it  was  he  that  was  speaking  or  some  one  else 
uttering  his  thoughts. 

"Happy!"  echoed  Peschino.  "I  am  in  paradise! 
This  is  the  grandest  day  of  my  life.  It  is  joy  enough 
for  a  hundred  lives  to  see  the  Antliropodaimon  lying 
like  a  helpless  infant  in  my  cabin !" 

"  Enjoy  it  while  you  can,  Peschino,"  answered  his 
victim,  fixing  his  great  mild  eyes,  languid  with  pain, 
upon  him.  "  There  is  little  enough  you  can  enjoy, 
poor  soul !" 

"  Ho,  ho !  Never  you  fear  for  me.  I'll  get  enjoy 
ment  enough  out  of  you  before  I  have  done  with 
you !" 

"  Play  with  me,  and  then  slay  me.  Then  there  is 
the  rest  of  your  life  on  earth — then  eternity." 


THE   OKDEAL.  275 

Vvr  spoke  more  as  if  lie  were  communing  with 
himself  than  replying  to  Peschino.  His  eyes  had 
turned  away  from  his  enemy,  and  now  looked  dream 
ily  out  through  the  little  window  at  the  foot  of  his 
pallet. 

The  brigand  crossed  himself.  "I'll  meet  you  in 
eternity,  Hector  Vyr,"  he  retorted,  with  a  fearful 
scowl,  "  with  all  my  followers  whom  you  have  sent 
there." 

"  Yes.  We  shall  all  meet  together  before  our 
Judge — and  may  He  forgive  us  all !" 

"  You  preach  and  pray !"  growled  Peschino.  "  You 
sing  psalms  and  I — I'll  play  tlie  instruments  /" 

But  the  terrible  significance  of  this  taunt  extorted 
no  sign  of  fear  from  the  helpless  prisoner,  who  asked 
quietly, 

'•  Are  these  chains  designed  as  a  part  of  my  pun 
ishment,  or  simply  for  security  C 

"Will  you  swear  to  attempt  no  violence  if  I  loosen 
them  a  little?" 

"  I  shall  attempt  nothing  that  would  be  useless." 

"Will  you  swear  to  make  no  effort  to  escape,  or  to 
harm  any  of  us,  if  I  take  them  off  altogether  ?" 

"  No.     Let  them  remain  as  they  are." 

Nevertheless,  Peschino  sounded  a  whistle,  and 
while  two  brigands  who  answered  the  call  stood  cov 
ering  the  prisoner  with  their  rifles,  he  unlocked  the 
fetters,  loosened  and  rclocked  them,  one  by  one, 
affording  inexpressible  relief  to  the  swollen,  suffering 
limbs. 

"  I  have   no   intention  to  '  punish '  you,"  he  ex- 


276  A    DEMIGOD. 

plained,  after  the  men  had  been  again  sent  away, 
"until  the  proper  time.  I  have  a  proposition  to 
make  to  yon  first." 

"  You  will  doubtless  waste  your  breath.  Never 
theless,  go  on,  and  I  will  listen  as  well  as  I  can  with 
this  thumping  brain.  You  have  lamed  my  thinking 
power  somewhat  with  that  bludgeon  of  yours,  Peschi- 
710.  If  you  wished  to  talk  with  me,  you  should  not 
have  struck  so  hard — twice,  I  think  it  was,  was  it 
not?" 

"Ah,  it  was  Hector  Vyr  that  I  struck!"  laughed 
the  brigand,  exultingly.  "  Santa  Maria  bless  the 
sweet  bait  that  trapped  him  for  us,  the  beautiful 
Madeline  Paul !  Without  her  help  we  could  as  well 
have  trapped  the  moon  !" 

Two  lurid  flames  seemed  to  leap  from  the  eyes  be 
fore  so  soft  and  mild.  Peschino  started  back,  ex 
pecting  to  see  the  chains  snap  under  the  tremendous 
struggles  of  his  prisoner ;  but  in  a  moment  or  two 
the  latter  sank  panting  back  upon  his  pallet. 

"  Aha !"  thought  Peschino,  "  there's  where  the 
quick  lies.  Now  we'll  see  \vhat  you'll  say  to  my 
proposition. 

"  What,"  he  asked,  "  if  I  should  myself  break  those 
chains  for  you  ?  What  if  I  offer  to  you  release — not 
merely  from  death,  but  torture  f 

"  Yes,  Hector  Vyr,  liberty  is  yours  if  you  will  ac 
cept  it.  I,  the  Kapitdn  Peschino,  pronounce  it  upon 
the  honor  of  a  klepht.  I  will  forget  the  many  dis 
appointments  we  have  suffered  at  your  hands,  the 
terrors,  wounds,  and  death  you  have  inflicted  upon 


THE   ORDEAL.  277 

my  brave  followers ;  you  shall  once  more  behold  the 
face  of  your  twice-bereaved  mother,  and  clasp  in  your 
arms  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the  Frank  —  I,  who 
loved  her  and  swore  that  the  very  bed  whereon  you 
lie  should  be  hers,  will  yield  you  even  this — all  upon 
one  condition !" 

"  Become  one  of  you  ?" 

"  Yes.  Will  you  do  it  ?  We  will  make  you  our 
leader,  our  kiny  !  Heavens!  what  could  we  not  do 4 
We  would  make  all  Greece  our  pasture-land  and  vine 
yard  !  We  would  laugh  at  the  world  !" 

"  Even  as  I  now  laugh  at  you." 

The  eager  solicitation  of  Peschino's  face  changed 
to  a  demoniac  scowl.  "You  shall  pay  dearly  for 
this !"  he  growled,  and  turned  to  the  door,  as  if  to 
call  his  men.  But  avarice  once  more  mastered  his 
rage  and  thirst  for  revenge.  lie  hesitated,  and  turned 
slowly  back. 

"Well,  hear  one  more  condition,  one  that  demands 
no  sacrifice  of  honor — only  simple  justice." 

"  Go  on." 

"In  the  first  place,  you  will  not  deny  that  you  and 
your  father  before  you  have  many  times  interfered 
with  our  business.  You  have  lost  us  many  hundred 
thousands  of  drachmas.  The  Kapitdii  Paul  alone  was 
to  pay  us  three  hundred  thousand.  It  was  not  your 
affair.  If  he  and  I  had  been  suffered  to  finish  our 
transaction  of  business  together,  you  would  not  have 
been  accountable.  Have  we  not  a  right  to  demand 
that  you  shall  let  us  alone  ?  that  you  shall  attend  to 
your  own  affairs,  and  let  us  attend  to  ours  ?" 


278  A   DEMIGOD. 

"  It  is  just.  You  attend  to  your  affairs,  and  I  will 
attend  to  mine." 

"Make  good  to  us,  then,  at  least  this  last  loss. 
Mark,  Hector  Yyr,  I  ask  only  what  was  already  ours. 
You  call  us  thieves — what  have  you  and  your  ances 
tors  been  but  the  greatest  thieves  in  Greece  ?  Re 
store  to  us,  I  say,  the  last  game  that  you  stole  from 
our  snare ;  put  the  Kapitdn  Paul  again  in  our  way ; 
swear  to  interfere  with  us  no  more,  and  you  are  free. 
Refuse  this  most  reasonable,  most  generous  condition, 
and  I  swear  to  you  I  will  measure  your  fortitude, 
inch  by  inch,  hour  by  hour,  till  I  have  reached  its  ut 
most  limit!  or,  if  that  is  equal  to  your  power  of  life, 
till  the  last  spark  of  life  has  faded  out  in  slow  agony! 
Think  it  well  over,  Hector  Yyr.  Remember  your  fa 
ther,  and  from  his  fate  be  assured  that  the  heart  of 
a  klepht  never  relents.  Well,  what  do  you  say  ?" 

"You  have  done  well,  Peschino,"  answered  Yyr, 
with  white,  firm  lips,  "  to  speak  of  my  father.  If  for 
one  instant  my  heart  should  fail  me,  the  thought  of 
him  would  nerve  me  to  the  end.  It  is  you  that  should 
remember  him,  and  know,  without  another  trial,  what 
a  Yyr  can  endure. 

"If  you  indulge  in  this  idle  chatter  because  you 
think  it  torments  me,  continue  it  by  all  means — 1  am 
in  your  hands;  but  if  you  think  it  will  cause  one  lit 
tle  tremor  in  my  resolution,  spare  your  breath.  My 
brain  is  weary.  I  shall  say  no  more." 

With  this  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  turned  his  face  to 
the  wall. 

"Very  well,"  said  Peschino,  drawing  a  long  breath 


THE   ORDEAL.  379 

between  his  teeth  as  lie  arose,  "  I  will  leave  you  now. 
I  will  give  you  till  the  sun  again  shines  in  at  this 
window  to  make  your  final  decision.  Perhaps  a 
night's  thinking  will  make  your  brain  clearer." 

Within  a  half-hour  after  Peschino's  departure  the 
sentinel  at  the  door  of  the  hut  reported  the  prisoner 
fast  asleep ! 

There  are  some  things  too  horrible  to  paint,  though 
they  are  not  too  horrible  to  be.  Art  averts  her  face 
in  high-bred  disgust,  or  in  compassion  too  keen  for 
her  fine  sensibilities,  from  scenes  which  Nature  toler 
ates  without  flinching,  and  history  delineates  in  ev 
ery  horrifying  detail.  For  four  interminable  hours 
Hector  Yyr  endured  that  of  which  no  one  shall  suf 
fer  the  pain  even  of  reading  a  description.  Suffice 
it  that  his  tormentor  was  an  adept  in  his  fiendish  art, 
that  he  knew  too  well  the  secret  of  prolonging  ago 
ny— he  knew  that  the  breaking  of  bones,  the  direct 
injury  of  vital  parts,  even  the  free  shedding  of  blood, 
was  but  a  clumsy  waste  of  the  victim's  vitality,  and 
hence  of  his  capacity  for  suffering. 

Did  Vyr  suffer  without  a  murmur  or  a  groan? 
Before  the  ordeal  began  lie  s:iid  to  Peschino,  "I  shall 
play  no  heroic  folly  for  your  admiration.  I  shall  as 
sist  your  executioner  by  no  self-torturing  repression. 
Do  not,  therefore,  mistake  my  cries  for  prayers,  or 
my  wailings  for  signs  of  yielding.  They  are  ano 
dynes  which  I  shall  employ  without  stint.  Begin 
when  you  please.  1  am  ready." 

******* 


280  A    DEMIGOD. 

At  last  a  more  effectual  anodyne  came  —  perfect 
unconsciousness. 

"  Quick !"  shouted  Peschino,  "  tlie  brandy  !" 

They  had  partially  released  their  victim,  and  were 
in  the  act  of  forcing  the  burning  liquid  down  his 
throat,  when  a  musket-shot  was  heard  from  the  cliff, 
and  the  cry,  "  Strdtiotai  !  stratwtai  /"  (the  soldiers ! 
the  soldiers !)  resounded  through  the  camp. 

Peschino  had  far  underestimated  the  tremendous 
vitality  of  Hector  Yyr.  It  was  now  that  his  reserve- 
power,  the  faithful  husbandry  of  seven  generations, 
triumphantly  showed  itself.  As  the  terrified  shouts 
of  the  brigands  fell  upon  his  reviving  ear,  the  vital 
tide  came  pouring  back  into  his  veins.  Back  surged 
his  giant  strength  into  every  nerve  and  muscle.  A 
feeble  invalid  will  sometimes  put  forth  a  maniacal 
force  which  will  tax  strong  men  to  their  utmost. 
What,  then,  must  have  been  the  might  with  which 
the  long-tortured  Hector  Yyr  arose  at  that  electrify 
ing  sound  ?  He  shook  off  the  remaining  bonds  that 

o  o 

held  him  as  if  they  had  been  wisps  of  straw,  snatched 
a  musket  from  the  paralyzed  hand  of  his  nearest 
guard,  darted  forward,  dashing  down  his  enemies 
right  and  left,  and  disappeared  in  the  pass  before  a 
shot  had  been  fired  ! 

With  loud  imprecations  Peschino  and  three  more 
started  in  pursuit.  A  few  others  sprang  to  the  top 
of  the  cliff  to  shoot  down  the  fugitive  as  he  emerged. 
But  none  of  their  wild  shots  struck  the  half-naked 
figure  that  darted  its  zigzag  way  down  the  hill  and 
quickly  vanished  in  the  thickets.  Then,  raising  their 


THE   ORDEAL.  281 

eyes  for  the  first  time,  they  saw  a  line  of  muskets 
glittering  along  the  open  space  below,  and  disappear 
ing  one  by  one  among  the  tall  bushes.  Leaping 
back  into  their  intrenchments  and  seeing  nowhere 
their  chieftain,  they  rushed  into  his  hut,  hurriedly 
overturning  pallets,  tables,  etc.,  in  their  search  for  a 
certain  strong  box  they  knew  of.  Not  finding  it, 
they  rushed  out  again  with  yells  of  "  Qr&gora  !  GrS- 
gora!"  ran  down  the  valley,  up  into  the  mountain 
on  the  other  side,  where  they  were  closely  followed 
by  their  panic-stricken  comrades. 

Meantime  Peschino  and  his  three  followers  contin 
ued  their  pursuit  until  they  reached  the  outer  en 
trance  of  the  pass.  There,  instead  of  their  late  pris 
oner,  they  beheld  a  swarm  of  soldiers  just  beginning 
to  pour  forth  from  the  thickets,  led  by  the  well- 
known  figure  of  Major  Paul.  They  turned  to  re 
treat — but  too  late.  There  were  rattling  explosions, 
and  Peschino  fell  with  both  knees  shattered.  His 
companions  caught  him  up  in  their  arms  and  hur 
ried  with  him  into  the  pass.  The  shouts  came  near 
er — nearer — their  burden  grew  heavier — it  was  too 
much  for  brigand  courage  and  fealty ;  they  laid  him 
on  the  ground,  and,  heedless  alike  of  his  entreaties 
and  his  curses,  they  left  to  his  fate  their  captain,  in 
whose  defence  they  had  sworn  to  die ! 

A  few  minutes  later  he  was  surrounded  by  his 
chattering,  huzzaing  captors.  The  lochagfa  ordered 
two  soldiers  to  take  him  in  charge,  and  hastened  on 
with  the  rest  in  hot  pursuit  of  his  faithless  comrades. 
With  renewed  yells  the  troops  poured  through  the 


283  A  DEMIGOD. 

pass,  then  scattered  here  and  there,  in  and  out  of  the 
huts,  and  down  the  valley.  But  Peschino'fl  boast  was 
true.  In  the  mountain  labyrinth  beyond,  all  but  the 
wounded  chief  and  three  or  four  stragglers  were  as 
safe  as  was  the  eagle  looking  down  upon  them  from 
his  aerial  circuit. 

Major  Paul  found  Peschino  lying  on  the  pallet  in 
his  hut  volubly  cursing  his  two  guards,  who  were 
baiting  him  as  they  would  a  wounded  bear. 

"  Let  him  alone,  you  cowardly  rascals  !"  he  roared. 
They  fell  back  respectfully  to  their  places. 

"Are  you  badly  hurt?"  he  asked,  kindly,  bending 
over  the  pallet. 

Peschino  uttered  an  inarticulate  growl,  and  tried 
to  turn  away,  but  the  movement  extorted  from  him 
a  howl  of  pain. 

"  Oh,  come,  come !  you're  in  for  it  now,  and  you 
may  as  well  make  the  best  of  it.  I'm  not  going  to 
hurt  you,  man.  I  only  want  to  make  you  as  com 
fortable  as  I  can.  What  did  the  surgeon  say  to 
you  ?" 

"lie  say  cut  off.  No;  die!  — no  cut  off. — 
Ough-o-o-o !" 

The  major  tried  to  place  the  lacerated  legs  in  a 
more  comfortable  position,  but  only  brought  down 
on  his  head  a  shower  of  mingled  Greek  and  English 
curses,  from  which  he  was  glad  to  beat  a  retreat. 

"  You  bring  them !"  snarled  the  brigand,  presently. 

"I  am  proud  to  acknowledge  the  charge,"  replied 
the  major,  upon  whom  his  ungracious  reception  was 
beginning  to  tell.  "  You  showed  me  the  way,  and  I 


THE  ORDEAL.  283 

improved  the  knowledge.  What  have  you  l)een  do 
ing  to  JLrtnr  Yijr  r 

Peschino's  lower  jaw  dropped,  and  his  face,  already 
pale,  turned  to  the  color  of  ashes. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  major,  startled  by  the  effect 
of  his  question,  "  I  will  not  trouble  you  any  more 
now.  I  must  go  and  help  look  after  your  subordi 
nates." 

Outside  of  the  hut  huddled  an  eager  crowd  striv 
ing  to  get  a  sight  of  the  famous  captive.  The  major 
drove  them  all  away,  threatening  to  report  them  to 
their  commander  and  have  them  court-martialled  if 
they  did  not  keep  their  distance. 

After  an  hour  or  two  all  further  pursuit  was  aban 
doned,  the  spoils  were  collected,  the  huts  fired,  and 
with  their  prisoners  the  troops  prepared  to  return. 

On  reaching  the  rescuing  party,  Hector  Vyr  had 
thrown  his  arms  around  Major  Paul's  neck,  and  then 
sunk  once  more  into  unconsciousness.  Even  he  was 
at  last  exhausted. 

Long  before  the  victorious  detachment  came  in 
sight  of  Mikro-Maina  they  were  met  by  a  throng  of 
excited  villagers  in  quest  of  news.  A  little  apart 
from  the  crowd  was  a  group  consisting  of  the  serv 
ants  of  the  Vyr  estate  and  two  women,  at  sight  of 
whom  Major  Paul  rode  forward  on  the  full  gal 
lop.  Dismounting,  he  embraced  the  younger  of  the 
two. 

"  Darling  daughter,  we've  saved  him  !" 

"With  a  low,  joyful  cry  she  fainted  in  his  arms. 

"Where   is  he  2"  asked  the  mother,  grasping  his 


284  A   DEMIGOD. 

arm  and  glaring  at  him  with  fierce,  insane  eyes ; 
"  where  is  he?  Ilave  they  burned  him  to  death  with 
hot  irons  ?" 

"  Ho,  no  !"  lie  answered,  eagerly.  "  He  is  safe ! 
Can't  you  understand,  my  poor  woman?  he  is  safe! 
You  will  see  him  in  a  few  minutes." 

"When  they  laid  that  majestic  form  before  her, 
helpless  but  alive — the  smooth  forehead  colorless  as 
snow,  save  where  the  hair  lay  in  thick  curling  masses 
stiff  with  blood,  the  eyelids  closed  like  sculptured 
marble  under  the  noble  arches  of  the  brow,  and  the 
deep,  broad  chest  laboriously  heaving  and  sinking  un 
der  the  blood-stained  jacket — she  uttered  a  loud,  wail 
ing  note,  and  fell  on  her  knees  by  his  side. 

The  eyes  slowly  opened,  their  lustrous  black  con 
trasting  vividly  with  the  pallor  of  the  face.  "  Man 
na! — Madeline !"  came  in  scarcely  audible  tones  from 
the  lips,  and  the  eyes  closed  again. 

He  was  tenderly  conveyed  to  his  home,  where,  for 
the  present,  we  will  leave  him  in  the  care  of  the  sur 
geon  of  the  detachment  and  others,  whose  loving,  anx 
ious  ministrations  were  far  more  effectual  than  all  the 
surgeon's  skill. 

The  entry  into  Mikro-Maina  wras  a  triumph  in 
miniature.  Those  of  the  villagers  who  had  not  al 
ready  sated  their  curiosity  and  admiration,  flocked  to 
see  the  valiant  warriors  and  their  prisoners,  as  if  the 
latter  were  some  new  and  strange  variety  of  wild  ani 
mals,  instead  of  men  with  whom  some  of  them,  at 
least,  had  talked  as  familiarly  as  with  any  others  of 
their  occasional  visitors. 


THE   ORDEAL.  285 

Among  the  crowd  Major  Paul  recognized  his  neph 
ew,  whom  he  immediately  asked  to  gi\re  an  account 
of  himself.  Where  had  he  been  all  this  while? 

Been  {  Where  should  he  have  been,  but  at  the 
Kutchuk  inn,  where  he  had  been  told  to  wait  until 
his  uncle  should  call  for  him  ? 

"What  the  devil  arc  you  litre  for,  then  ?"  retorted 
the  major,  disgusted  at  a  mere  civilian's  obeying  or 
ders  with  such  military  precision. 

"  The  campaign  being  over,  I  took  it  for  granted 
that  I  was  discharged  from  duty,*'  replied  the  young 
man,  with  provoking  coolness.  "But  I  say,  Uncle 
AVarrcn,  the  next  time  you  go  klcpht-lmnting,  I  shall 
go  with  you,  orders  or  no  orders." 

As  one  of  Peschino's  late  prisoners,  Griffin  was  of 
course  allowed  to  speak  with  him. 

"  Well,  captain,''  he  said,  with  affected  exultation, 
at  the  same  time  darting  at  him  a  significant  glance, 
"circumstances  have  somewhat  changed  since  I  last 
had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you." 

The  brigand  understood  the  glance,  and  replied 
with  simulated  scorn  and  defiance.  Seizing  his  op 
portunity,  Griffin  said,  in  low,  hurried  tones,  "Don't 
betray  me.  I'll  do  my  best  to  help  you  out  of  this." 
Then  aloud  :  "  I  suppose  you  are  willing  to  reduce 
our  ransom  a  little,  under  the  circumstances,  eh,  cap 
tain  ?" 

"  Oh,  come  !"  interposed  Major  Paul ;  "  that's  cow 
ardly,  Robert.  Let  the  poor  cuss  alone,  if  you  can't 
treat  him  civilly.'' 


286  A   DEMIGOD. 

It  was  found  impossible  to  save  Peschino's  legs; 
so,  in  spite  of  liis  opposition,  they  were  both  ampu 
tated,  and  he  was  left  under  good  care  until  he  should 
have  sufficiently  recovered  to  warrant  his  removal  to 
Kahimas,  where  he  was  to  undergo  his  trial. 


XXII. 

A   NIGHT   OF  FEVER. 

FROM  the  moment  when  Madeline  found  herself  in 
the  grasp  of  the  brigand  chief,  and  her  lover  lying 
stunned  a  few  feet  away,  up  to  the  time  when  he 
lay  weak  and  only  half  conscious  in  his  own  house, 
her  mind  was  so  taken  up  with  his  terrible  peril  and 
her  frantic  desire  to  do  something  to  extricate  him, 
that  she  scarcely  thought  of  the  barrier  that  had  arisen 
between  him  and  herself.  But,  as  by  degrees  her 
hope  became  firm  that  he  was  not  going  to  die,  but 
would  sooner  or  later  recover  his  full  health  and  pow 
er,  her  proud  resentment  returned.  So,  when  after 
a  day  and  a  night  he  awoke  to  a  clear  consciousness 
of  the  faces  and  forms  around  him,  she  simply  con 
gratulated  him  on  his  escape  and  assured  recovery, 
and  hurriedly  left  the  room. 

The  sick  man  gazed  at  the  closed  door  in  con 
sternation.  "  Why  has  she  left  me,  manndka  ?"  he 
asked,  querulously.  "  Call  her  back  again." 

"  You  must  not  excite  yourself,  Hector,'7  replied 
his  mother,  in  whose  face  the  insanity  of  despair  had 


A   NIGHT   OF   FEVER.  287 

given  place  to  a  calm,  fixed  happiness  ;  "  you  are  very 
weak  yet." 

"  Then  call  her  back.  I  shall  get  dangerously  ex 
cited  if  she  doesn't  come." 

""Wait  till  you  arc  a  little  stronger,  paidi  mou. 
The  doctor  says  positively  that  you  must  be  kept 
perfectly  quiet." 

"  But  I  say  I  cannot  be  quiet  unless  she  comes.  Go 
and  tell  her  that,  manndka" 

"  Oh,"  cried  Madame  Vyr,  wringing  her  hands, 
"what  shall  I  do?  what  will  the  doctor  say?  Will 
you  promise  not  to  talk  ?" 

"  I  must  talk  a  little,  but  I  promise  to  say  no  more 
than  is  absolutely  necessary." 

At  that  Madame  Vyr  left  the  room,  still  complain 
ing  to  herself.  In  a  few  minutes  Madeline  re-entered. 
'•  You  sent  for  me?"  she  said,  commanding  her  voice 
with  a  great  effort,  as  she  took  the  chair  by  his  bed 
side. 

"  Sent  for  you  !  Of  course  I  sent  for  you.  My 
life  came  back  to  me,  but  it  seemed  to  leave  me  again 
when  you  left  me.  Madeline,  did  you  think  I  had 
ceased  to  love  you  ?" 

"You  —  said  —  you  had  done  wrong,  and  were— 


going  to  —  do 

"  What  is  right  ?" 

"Why  —  to  unsay  all  you  have  said  —  isn't  it?" 
"  No,  dearest  one,  that  can  never  be.     It  is  to  say 
it  all  again,  from  the  lowest  depths  of  my  heart  —  and 
much  more.     It  is  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you  so  well 
that  I  am  willing  to  sacrifice  all  other  things  to  your 
L9 


288  A  DEMIGOD. 

best  happiness.  What  liave  I  to  offer  yon  in  place 
of  native  land,  friends,  everything  that  has  made  your 
life  a  perpetual  pleasure  ?  Only  a  splendid  solitude 
in  exile,  myself  and  my  love.  If  these  are  enough 
for  your  joyous  youth,  how  can  I  be  assured  that  they 
will  suffice  for  the  long,  long  years  of  a  lifetime  ?  It 
is  only  a  love  longer  than  life,  stronger  than  death, 
that  will  be  satish'ed  with  my  offering.  Such,  my 
Madeline,  is  my  love  for  you,  and  such  must  be  your 
love  for  me  if  I  accept  the  sacrifice  that  I  have  asked 
too  soon." 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  rising  and  standing  before 
him  like  a  beautiful  statue,  "how  little  you  know, 
Hector  Yyr !  with  all  your  power,  with  all  your  wis 
dom,  how  little  you  know !  You  think  that  your 
lion  heart  has  lower  depths  than  a  woman's  —  that 
your  love  is  more  enduring,  more  unselfish  than  hers ! 
You  think  I  prize  a  life  of  shallow  pleasure  above 
my  very  soul !  and  doubt  whether  the  palace  you 
offer  me  in  the  midst  of  this  splendid  solitude  will 
compensate  me  for  the  loss  of  society  !  I  say  to  you, 
I  do  not  want  your  palace !  Your  love  is  enough 
for  me,  and  will  be  till  I  die !" 

As  he  heard  these  words,  uttered  with  convincing 
fervency,  a  glow  of  rapture  lighted  up  his  pale  feat 
ures.  "  I  believe  you,"  he  said.  "  Come  to  me,  my 
own  love !" 

After  a  while  she  raised  her  face,  dewy  and  radi 
ant,  from  his  bosom.  "  There  will  be  no  more  ex 
periments  now  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  lovely  smile. 


A   NIGHT   OF   FEVER.  289 

"  Never  again.  And  when  I  have  shown  you  my 
perfect  faith  for  a  year,  will  you  forgive  me?" 

"I  have  already  forgiven  you.  You  did  not  know 
—poor  recluse,  how  could  you  ?" 

"No,  I  did  not  know.  I  was  blind,  and  you  did 
not  open  my  eyes,  Madeline ;  you  only  drewr  the  veil 
more  closely  over  them — so  artfully  did  you  feign  in 
difference.  Now  shall  I  tell  you  why  I  insisted  on 
carrying  you  over  the  log-bridge  ?" 

"  Ah,  I  called  you  a  tyrant.  And  you  were,  Hec 
tor.  I  tried  to  defy  you ;  but  my  will  against  yours 
was  no  more  than  my  feeble  arm  would  be  against 
your  strength.  Yes,  tell  me — why  did  you  insist  on 
going,  and  carrying  me  with  you — to  your— -fate?" 

"It  was  indeed  to  my  fate!"  he  said,  his  face  an 
swering  the  sudden  paleness  of  her  own.  "  "Why 
could  I  not  have  looked  into  the  future  one  short 
hour  ?  I  thought  you  as  devoid  of  emotion  as  you 
seemed.  I  thought  I  must  lose  you  forever — but,  be 
fore  the  last  tie  was  severed  between  us,  I  wanted  to 
fold  you  again  to  my  breast  as  I  did  on  that  first  day 
—to  feel  your  head  again  nestling  upon  my  shoulder, 
your  arms  clinging  around  my  neck.  Was  it  not  an 
artful  stratagem  ?" 

"  I  must  leave  you  now,"  Madeline  said,  a  little 
later,  "  or  my  visit  will  do  you  more  harm  than  good." 
"  Yes  ;  you  may  go  now." 

Late  in  the  afternoon  there  were  alarming  symp 
toms  of  fever.  Vyr's  cheeks  burned,  and  his  eyes 


290  A   DEMIGOD. 

shone  with  a  lustre  that  was  almost  frightful.  His 
friends  stood  gazing  in  silent  awe  upon  his  counte 
nance,  transfigured  by  the  fire  of  disease  to  a  dazzling, 
unearthly  beauty.  The  doctor  summoned  Major  Paul 
to  a  private  conference. 

"We  have  a  terrible  night  before  us,"  he  said.  "  If 
he  becomes  delirious  no  living  man  can  hold  him. 
Unless  he  is  restrained  by  a  power  stronger  than  his 
own,  he  wrill  tear  himself  and  everything  about  him 
to  pieces." 

"  What  can  be  done  ?"  asked  the  major. 

"  The  first  thing  is  to  get  rid  of  the  women." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  is  out  of  the  question — at  least 
so  far  as  my  daughter  is  concerned.  She  is  under  a 
great  obligation  to  him,  like  the  rest  of  us,  and  noth 
ing  could  persuade  her  to  desert  her  post." 

"  Well,  she  seems  to  be  a  strong,  sensible  young 
woman,  and  if  she  can  stand  it,  she  may  be  of  some 
help.  Sometimes  these  women  are  cooler  than  we  are." 

"  They  generally  are,  in  dealing  with  the  sick,  are 
they  not  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  would  be  in  such  a  case  as 
this  promises  to  be — it  is  going  to  take  something 
more  than  coolness,  you  will  find." 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to — strap  him  down." 

"  If  we  can  find  straps  strong  enough,"  replied  the 
doctor. 

"Poor  Madeline!"  thought  the  major. 

As  darkness  approached,  the  patient  rapidly  grew 
worse.  His  chest  labored  painfully,  and  his  pulses 
came  like  jets  of  hot  quicksilver. 


A    NIGHT   OF    FEVER.  291 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  going  mad,"  lie  said  to  tlic 
doctor.  "A  moment  ago  I  thought  you  were  Pes- 
chino,  and  I  was  on  the  point  of  seizing  you  by 
the  throat.  If  this  goes  on,  you  will  have  to  leave 
me  by  myself,  or  I  shall  do  mischief." 

"  You  certainly  will  do  mischief  if  we  do"  an 
swered  the  doctor. 

"  You  must  chain  me  down,  so  I  can't.  Give  me 
some  more  water — I  am  on  fire !" 

During  the  ever- shortening  intervals  of  reason 
which  followed,  Yyr  tried  to  quiet  his  poor  frenzied 
mother,  and  to  soften  the  deeper  grief  and  terror 
which  he  saw  in  Madeline's  calm  white  face  ;  while, 
like  Karl  the  Martyr,  he  helped  to  devise  means  of 
controlling  the  fury  of  the  coming  delirium. 


He  struggles  with  all  his  might,  but  he  cannot 
move  a  muscle ;  for  a  demon,  with  eyes  like  molten 
metal  and  huge  overshadowing  wings,  holds  him  in 
a  horrid  embrace. 

"Will  you  betray  him?"  says  the  demon  in  his 
ear.  It  is  the  voice  of  Peschino. 

"No." 

"  Then  fall !" 

He  is  in  motion,  slow  at  first,  then  faster,  faster, 
down,  down,  swifter  and  still  more  swift,  until,  like  a 
material  body  shattered  by  its  own  motion,  the  ties 
of  conscious  existence  snap  asunder. 


292  A   DEMIGOD. 

Again  lie  is  in  motion,  inconceivably  swift,  up  like 
a  ray  of  light  darting  through  the  darkness  of  space. 
He  looks  upward.  He  is  suspended,  like  a  pendu 
lum,  by  a  thread  of  fire  coming  from  a  point  far 
away  in  the  immeasurable  void.  It  is  the  upward 
swing  of  the  pendulum.  There  seem  to  be  hours  of 
diminishing  speed,  until  he  stops  and  is  again  in  the 
demon's  embrace. 

"  Will  you  betray  him  ?" 

"No." 

"  Then  fall !" 

Once  more  the  accelerating  motion  of  descent  ends 
in  unconsciousness,  to  be  followed  by  another  awak 
ening  in  the  vast  upward  cycloid. 

The  slender  thread  of  fire  parts,  and  he  falls  down 
through  the  illimitable  darkness  into  an  oblivion  from 
which  it  seems  there  can  be  no  awakening. 

But  he  awakes.  He  is  lying  chained  upon  a  bed 
of  solid  rock,  that  stretches  in  all  directions  around 
him  like  a  waveless  ocean.  Far,  far  above  is  a  sky 
of  leaden  cloud  of  one  unvarying  hue.  As  he  gazes, 
the  distance  above  him  shortens.  The  leaden  sky  is 
sinking.  Erelong  it  will  envelop  him  in  its  chilling 
folds.  It  comes  nearer.  Its  surface  takes  on  a  more 
substantial  appearance.  It  is  not  cloud — it  is  solid 
granite!  In  the  distance,  sky  of  rock  and  sea  of 
rock  meet  in  a  soft  blue  horizon.  Still  the  solid 
heavens  sink.  It  will  be  hours,  perhaps  days,  but 
they  will  surely  reach  him  at  last,  and  crush  him  to 


A   NIGHT   OF   FEVER.  293 

powder.  And  lie  cannot  move  a  link  of  the  iron 
chains  that  bind  him. 

Now  the  mistiness  is  all  gone.  He  can  see  the  lit 
tle  black  and  white  specks  and  the  glittering  grains 
of  mica.  He  makes  a  mighty  effort,  and  frees  his 
right  arm.  He  reaches  it  up,  and  feels  the  rough, 
hard,  cold  surface. 

"  Will  you  betray  him  ?"  says  the  voice  of  Pes- 
chino. 

"No." 

"  Then  die !" 

Again  he  awakes.  The  rocky  incubus  has  arisen, 
and  now  smiles  in  a  vast  dome  of  blue  crystal,  with 
the  bright  sun  in  its  midst.  The  granite  plain  has 
heaved  into  grassy  hills  and  snow-capped  mountains. 
In  a  valley  carpeted  with  flowery  verdure  are  sport 
ing  troops  of  maidens,  each  of  surpassing  beauty. 
The  melody  of  their  laughter  falls  upon  his  ear  like 
silvery  chimes.  Among  them,  most  beautiful  of  all, 
walks  their  queen.  Her  form  and  features  are  those 
of  Madeline  Paul. 

He  tries  to  throw  his  arms  towards  her  and  to  call 
her  name  ;  but  he  is  bound  immovably,  and  his  voice 
is  smothered  by  a  rude  hand. 

"  Will  you  betray  him  ?" 

"No." 

"  Then  die !" 

White-hot  irons  are  laid  upon  his  flesh.  The  in 
tolerable  anguish  rouses  his  giant  strength  to  a  su- 


294  A   DEMIGOD. 

prcme  effort.  He  bursts  liis  bonds,  leaps  towards  liis 
love,  clasps  her  in  Iris  arms,  and  sinks  with  her  into 
oblivion  ! 

He  is  lying  upon  a  bed  of  softest  down.  A  cool 
breeze  plays  upon  his  brow.  The  sunlight  filters 
through  his  closed  eyelids.  His  chest  rises  and  falls 
with  slow,  gentle  motion.  A  sense  of  delicious  lan 
guor  weighs  down  his  limbs.  A  voice  that  tingles 
to  his  fingers'  ends  utters  a  cry  of  delight.  His 
heavy  eyelids  open.  He  sees  Madeline  Paul  stand 
ing  over  him  with  a  cup  and  a  teaspoon  in  her  hands. 


XXIII. 

ON   THE    VERANDA. 

IT  was  a  fierce  but  short-lived  invasion  of  disease. 
Xot  long  could  the  enemy  maintain  his  foothold 
within  a  citadel  so  strongly  built  and  hitherto  unsha 
ken  by  his  assaults.  The  forces  of  life  rallied  at  ev 
ery  point.  Day  by  day  the  work  of  reinstatement 
and  reparation  went  on.  In  no  other  way,  perhaps, 
could  the  exceptional  vitality  of  Hector  Vyr  have 
asserted  itself  so  strikingly  as  in  his  rapid  rebound 
from  a  fall  which  must  inevitably  have  destroyed  the 
majority  of  men.  The  terrible  blows  he  had  received 
upon  his  head  would  alone,  in  ordinary  cases,  have 
entailed  weeks,  perhaps  months  of  prostration,  if  not 
instant  death.  That  his  skull  was  not  fractured,  was 


ON   THE   VERANDA.  395 

due,  under  Providence,  to  the  unequalled  texture  and 
elasticity  of  that  helmet  of  nature ;  that  his  cords 
and  sinews  were  not  broken  or  permanently  injured, 
and  his  nervous  system  shattered,  in  the  excruciating 
ordeal  which  followed,  was  because  they  were  of  Nat 
ure's  best  handiwork,  compacted  to  endure  the  sever 
est  tests  that  mortality  can  sustain. 

But  he  was  not  a  patient  convalescent.  Hours  of 
torture  he  could  have  borne  without  a  groan,  had  he 
so  chosen ;  but  day  after  day  of  enforced  idleness, 
mental  and  physical,  was  an  experience  so  foreign  to 
his  nature  and  life-long  habit,  that  it  is  by  no  means 
certain  he  could  have  borne  it  without  murmuring 
and  chafing,  even  if  he  had  tried,  which  he  certainly 
did  not  do.  Every  member  of  the  household,  mis 
tress,  guests,  and  servants  alike,  had  to  bear  his  vig 
orous  fault-finding  and  restless  lamentations.  Once 
Madeline  actually  lost  her  temper,  and  boldly  asked 
if  he  were  really  the  heroic  Hector  Vyr,  or  some 
commonplace  invalid  who  had  assumed  his  shape. 
At  that,  for  the  first  time  since  his  capture  by  the 
brigands,  he  burst  into  a  lit  of  laughter. 

"  Impertinent !"  he  exclaimed.  "  If  the  klephts  had 
not  robbed  me  of  my  nails,  I  should  scratch  your 
eyes  out  with  them !  Make  up  your  mind  to  endure 
my  unruly  tongue  till  I  get  well.  It  amuses  rne  to 
scold  you,  and  helps  me  to  pass  the  endless  days. 
Haven't  I  already  borne  enough,  without  being  ex 
pected  to  play  the  martyr  now  (  It  is  part  of  your 
share  of  the  pain  to  tolerate  my  ill -humor,  and  I 
promise  you  I  shall  not  spare  you  any  more  than  the 


296  A   DEMIGOD. 

rest.  But  you  may  scold,  too,"  lie  added,  with  anoth 
er  laugh ;  "if  you  can  make  me  really  angry,  all  the 
better — anything  to  spur  on  the  leaden-footed  hours." 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Madeline,  laughing,  though  the 
quick,  penitent  tears  started  to  her  eyes.  "  You  may 
scold  all  you  like,  if  it  relieves  you.  It  is  little 
enough  for  our  share  of  the  pain — though,  if  you 
think  it  is  all  we  have  borne  for  you,  you  are  most 
egregiously  mistaken,  sir !" 

"  I  said  it  was  apart  of  your  share,  mademoiselle." 

"  Well,  we  ought  not  to  complain,  but  rather  to  re 
joice,"  she  rejoined,  "  for  a  bad  temper  is  said  to  be 
one  of  the  surest  signs  of  returning  health.  But  I 
am  afraid  my  impatient  giant  would  make  but  an  in 
different  hero  in  a  dungeon." 

"  I  am  not  a  hero,  Madeline ;  I  am  a  philosopher. 
Many  of  the  heroic  things  men  are  said  to  do  are  the 
sheerest  folly.  My  standard  is  what  is  on  the  whole 
the  greatest  good  and  the  least  evil.  If  I  were  in  a 
dungeon — which  God  forbid ! — I  should  do  my  best 
to  alleviate  the  tedium  of  my  imprisonment,  what 
ever  my  keepers  might  think  of  me.  No  doubt  Pes- 
chino  and  his  minions  thought  me  anything  but  a 
hero  when  they  were  exercising  their  villanous  inge 
nuity  upon  me.  But  what  were  their  opinions  to 
me  ? — my  aim  was  so  to  occupy  my  mind  with  action 
as  to  leave  the  least  possible  scope  for  passive  en 
durance,  and  I  succeeded.  A  man  is  much  less  con 
scious  of  agony  when  he  is  struggling  and  yelling 
with  all  his  might,  not  to  speak  of  the  quicker  ap 
proach  of  exhaustion  and  unconsciousness.  Ah!" 


ON   THE   VERANDA.  397 

with  tender  regret  and  solicitude,  "I  should  not  have 
spoken  of  this." 

F»r  she  had  grown  deathly  pale,  and  was  trembling 
from  head  to  foot. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  with  firm  lips.  "Go  on.  I 
know  something  of  it,  and  I  ought  to  know  all.  I 
should  be  but  a  poor  wife  for  you  if  I  had  not  the 
courage  to  hear  what  you  had  the  fortitude  to  bear." 

"  But,  my  dearest,  there  is  no  need  of  your  hear 
ing  it.  It  would  be  so  much  gratuitous  suffering, 
which  would  be  altogether  contrary  to  my  theory. 
The  sympathy  of  my  best  beloved  is  sweet ;  but  I 
have  all  I  wish  and  more.  If  her  sympathy  is  sweet 
her  pain  is  not.  I  referred  to  that  ordeal  only  to 
convince  you  that  I  made  it  less  intolerable  than  you 
might  have  imagined.  Pain  can  be  endured.,  Made 
line.  We  cannot  be  fully  conscious  of  more  than  one 
great  throe  at  a  time.  Happily  for  me,  the  klephts 
did  not  understand  that.  It  would  have  required  at 
least  three  distinct  persons  to  realize  what  they  did 
to  me  at  one  and  the  same  instant.  It  does  not  seem 
to  me,  as  I  look  back  upon  it,  that  I  suffered  so  terri 
bly,  after  all.  A  part  of  the  time  I  was  protected 
by  a  merciful  numbness  in  every  nerve.  I  can  scarce 
ly  decide  which  I  remember  the  most  distinctly — the 
pain,  my  desperate  struggles,  or  my  ear-splitting 
shrieks  and  yells." 

lie  accomplished  his  beneficent  object.  She  lis 
tened  with  rapt  attention,  and  when  he  had  finished, 
heaved  a  long,  deep  sigh  of  relief. 

After  that  he  scolded  less,  and  chatted  more. 


398  A   DEMIGOD. 

One  morning  lie  sat  in  an  easy-chair  on  the  veran 
da,  breathing  in  great  draughts  of  crisp  air,  while  his 
eyes  roved  over  the  deep  green  of  the  valleys  and 
the  delicate  pearl  of  the  distant  mountain-tops.  A 
luxurious  gown  lined  with  white  fur  enveloped  his 
large  person,  and  a  light  fez  concealed  the  bandage 
which  he  still  wore  upon  his  head.  A  bright  color 
in  his  cheeks  enriched  their  softened  olive  and  the 
bronze  of  his  hair.  Madeline  sat  near  him,  her  grace 
ful  figure  clad  in  a  morning-robe  of  soft  orange-col 
ored  stuff  lined  with  white  and  relieved  at  the  throat 
by  a  cluster  of  blue  and  white  anemones,  which,  add 
ed  to  the  effect  of  the  morning  air  and  her  restored 
happiness,  rendered  her  eyes  and  complexion  more 
beautiful  than  ever.  She  had  been  reading  to  him 
from  a  volume  of  English  poetry,  of  which,  in  pres 
ence  of  the  sublimer  poetry  of  nature,  they  had  both 
wearied.  After  a  long  silence  she  abruptly  ex 
claimed, 

"  How  wonderfully  fast  you  are  gaining,  Hector ! 
I  can  almost  see  the  life-blood  pouring  into  your 
body  as  I  look  at  you." 

"Like  wine  into  a  bottle,"  he  answered,  laughing. 

7  O  O 

"  Don't  you  enjoy  the  process  ?  Health  and  pow 
er  will  be  all  the  more  delightful  to  you  now  that 
you  know  what  it  is  to  be  without  them." 

"  It  is  one  of  the  most  delicious  sensations  I  have 
ever  felt,"  he  replied,  dreamily  letting  his  eyes  rest 
on  the  blue  water  in  the  distance.  "  I  am  becoming 

O 

convinced  that  it  is  almost  worth  while  to  endure 
evil  for  the  sake  of  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  relief. 


OX   THE   VERANDA.  299 

and  the  greater  enjoyment  of  positive  good  that  fol 
lows.  The  blacker  the  shadows,  the  brighter  the 
lights.  How  the  rocky  grandeur  of  those  mountains 
would  be  tamed  if  the  dark  mantles  should  be 
stripped  from  their  sides !  The  Creator  of  beauty 
does  as  well  when  he  dips  his  brush  into  the  dyes  of 
midnight  as  when  his  pencils  are  the  beams  of  the 
morning  sun." 

k>  We  shall  some  day  understand  the  mystery  of 
evil  more  clearly  still,  I  suppose,"  returned  Madeline, 
thoughtfully. 

"  To  my  mind  evil  is  scarcely  a  mystery.  It  is 
like  the  shapeless  rocks  in  those  mountains,  over 
which  men  must  toil  and  sweat  if  they  would  change 
them  into  forms  of  beauty  and  usefulness." 

"But  there  is  so  much  that  never  can  be  moulded 
into  good,"  protested  Madeline. 

"  What  is  good  ?  It  is  not  only  the  squared  and 
polished  block  of  marble  that  is  good  and  beautiful. 
All  mankind  could  not  carve  these  rugged  crags  and 
ledges  into  smoothness  and  regularity.  But  they  arc 
not  evil :  there  is  a  beauty  and  a  good,  k<tlo)i  tiaga- 
thon,  in  their  very  shapelessness,  which,  in  its  place, 
surpasses  that  of  the  most  magnificent  palaces  of  hu 
man  workmanship." 

"  Oh,"  said  Madeline,  "  we  can  enjoy  mere  pictu- 
resqueness  and  roughness,  but  we  can  take  no  pleas 
ure  in  suffering,  however  picturesque.  Or,  if  we  do 
feel  a  sort  of  horrible  fascination  in  contemplating 
it,  we  may  be  sure  the  sufferer  feels  nothing  but 
pain.  Prometheus's  vulture  was  not  a  good  to 


300  A   DEMIGOD. 

himself,  whatever  it  might  be  to  poets  and  paint 
ers." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Vyr,  smiling  with  pleas 
ure  at  her  zest  and  spirit,  "it  was  the  very  incarna 
tion  of  good  to  him.  It  devoured  nothing  in  him 
but  what  was  corrupt  and  vile.  It  was  to  him  wliat 
the  furnace  seven  times  heated  is  to  gold.  Your  al 
lusion,  Madeline,  gives  us  a  key  to  a  part,  at  least,  of 
the  '  mystery.'  Prometheus  is  man ;  the  vulture  is 
what  we  call  evil." 

"  And  what  shall  we  call  that  which  the  vulture 
devours  2" 

"Ah,  that  is  the  only  real  evil.  And  the  only 
remedy  for  it  is  the  so-called  evil,  pain." 

"  It  is  that  real  evil  that  puzzles  me,"  persisted 
Madeline.  "Why  need  it  have  existed  in  the  first 
place,  to  require  so  fearful  a  remedy  ?" 

"  Who  is  man,  that  he  should  fathom  the  Infinite?" 
returned  Vyr,  reverently.  "If  the  beginning  had 
been  perfection,  there  could  have  been  no  change  but 
to  imperfection.  Is  it  not  better  that  imperfection 
should  be  eternally  employed  in  struggling  towards 
perfection  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Madeline,  with  decision.  "  There 
was  no  necessity  for  change.  Perfection  might  have 
been  eternal." 

"  Brahma's  endless  sleep,"  said  Vyr.  And  though 
the  world-old  problem  was  as  far  as  ever  from  solu 
tion  in  her  mind,  Madeline  made  no  reply. 

Both  remained  for  a  while  in  thoughtful  silence. 
At  length  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  tender  awe,  "  When 


ON   THE   VERANDA.  301 

you  were  speaking  as  you  did,  of  pain  and  its  benefi 
cence,  it  almost  seemed  to  me  as  if  you  were  Prome 
theus  himself — especially  when  I  thought  of —  Can 
you  accept  that  as  good  ?" 

"  Yes,  Madeline — now  that  it  is  over,  I  can.  It 
has  enlarged  my  vision.  It  was  a  revelation  to  me, 
which  will  make  the  remainder  of  my  existence  deep 
er,  broader,  higher."  Then,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  When 
I  am  a  little  stronger  I  shall  visit  Peschino.  He  is 
said  to  be  growing  worse  every  day." 

"  Can  you  trust  yourself  to  look  upon  the  wretch's 
face  ?  How  shall  you  be  able  to  restrain  your  hands 
from  tearing  him  limb  from  limb?" 

"  Not  by  the  aid  of  such  words  as  those  from  your 
lips !"  he  replied,  knitting  his  brows. 

She  shut  her  lips  tightly  together,  as  if  to  pre 
vent  a  retraction  of  her  question.  He  went  on  more 
calmly: 

"  I  should  be  restrained  by  the  reflection  that  the 
wreaking  of  my  vengeance  would  do  no  good,  but 
very  great  harm.  Even  if  he  lives  and  escapes  with 
a  light  punishment,  or  is  acquitted  altogether,  which 
is  not  an  impossibility — for  he  has  wielded  a  great 
political  power — he  can  do  no  more  mischief.  As  a 
klepht  chieftain  he  is  forever  disabled.  All  that  is 
left  him  now  is  to  learn  the  use  of  artificial  limbs 
and  try  to  live  an  honest  life." 

"  And  have  you  no  desire  for  retribution  ?"  asked 
Madeline,  looking  very  much  as  if  she  would  not  re 
fuse  to  be  herself  the  minister  of  vengeance. 

"Desire  !     Every  nerve  in  my  body  thrills  at  the 


302  A   DEMIGOD. 

thought  of  clutching  his  throat  in  my  fingers — of 
feeling  them  cut  through  flesh,  cords,  and  bones  to 
gether  !  Ah,  the  rapture  of  that  supreme  moment !" 

The  paroxysm  was  appalling  while  it  lasted.  It 
continued  but  a  few  seconds,  however.  Then  the 
lurid  fire  went  out  in  his  eyes,  which  now  regarded 
her  in  mild,  sorrowful  reproach.  "  You  see  what  an 
afrit  you  can  evoke  from  the  bottle  into  which  you 
'  can  see  the  life-blood  pouring,' "  he  said. 

"  You  surpass  my  ideal  of  nobleness  and  goodness, 
Hector.  When  I  think  of  what  you  endured  at 
Peschino's  hands  my  whole  soul  rebels  at  the  thought 
of  impunity  for  him.  I  know  it  is  terribly  wicked, 
but  I  can't  help  wishing  him  to  feel  in  his  own  vile 
body  some  of  the  agony  lie  made  you  suffer.  If  the 
opportunity  should  come,  I  am  afraid  I  should  try  to 
evoke  the  afrit  where  he  could  actually  exert  his 
power." 

" But  he  would  not,  Madeline — he  would  not"  an 
swered  Vyr,  again  struggling  with  his  passion.  "  One 
nod  from  Reason,  and  he  would  shrink  to  a  puff  of 
smoke  and  return  to  his  prison  in  the  bottle." 

"And  I  suppose  you  would  even — forgive — " 

"  No,  not  yet.  I  haven't  risen  so  high  as  that.  I 
simply  recognize  the  burning  thirst  for  revenge  I 
felt  just  now  to  be  a  bestial  appetite  which  must  be 
fought  against  and  subdued,  if  I  would  realize  my 
highest  aspirations.  It  belongs  to  a  very  low  stage 
in  development,  like  the  poison  fangs  of  the  serpent. 
It  is  only  in  the  breast  of  the  savage,  wild  or  '  civil 
ized,'  that  it  is  fully  developed.  He  alone  can  ex- 


ON  THE   VERANDA.  303 

perience  more  than  a  momentary  joy  in  its  gratifica 
tion,  or  escape  the  remorse  and  self-scorn  which  in 
variably  follows  in  higher  natures.  No  one  would 
suffer  more  keenly  than  you,  my  love,  if  what  you 
say  is  your  present  desire  should  be  carried  into  exe 
cution.  I  am — going  to  try — perhaps  I  may  learn 
to — forgive  Peschino." 

Madeline  rose  from  her  chair,  knelt  beside  him, 
and  leaning  her  arms  on  his  lap,  gazed  up  into  his 
face  in  mute  adoration.  One  of  his  maimed  hands 
stole  around  her  neck. 

"  You  must  not  give  me  more  credit  than  is  my 
due,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  "I  have  not  forgiven 
him  yet.  There  is  no  very  great  merit  in  seeking 
my  own  best  good,  is  there  ?  If  I  prefer  a  lasting, 
solid  happiness  to  the  savage  satisfaction  of  a  mo 
ment,  or  to  the  bitter  luxury  of  an  enduring  hatred, 
what  greater  virtue  can  I  lay  claim  to  than  the  per 
fection  of  selfish  wisdom  ?" 

"Oh,"  she  eagerly  protested,  "you  have  no  right 
to  defame  your  own  great,  noble  heart.  It  is  blas 
phemy.  It  is  not  selfish  wisdom  ;  it  is  Christlike 
goodness !  What  more  could  an  angel  from  heaven 
do  ?  Your  own  happiness  has  nothing  to  do  with  it, 
Hector  Vyr  —  I  almost  believe  you  would  do  the 
same  if  you  knew  it  would  result  in  your  own  misery 
instead  of  your  happiness  !" 

"No,"  he  replied,  shaking  his  head.     "Not  even 
an  angel  from  heaven  would  do  that.     But  think  of 
a  Being  that  would!     Angels  and  men  may  well 
worship  Him  ! 
20 


304  A  DEMIGOD. 


XXIV. 

HECTOR    VYR   VISITS    PESCHINO. 

PAIN  is  pain,  whoever  or  whatever  endures  it. 
That  the  sufferer  deserves  it  does  not  make  it  the 
more,  but  rather  the  less  tolerable.  In  a  world 
where  there  is  already  so  much  misery,  what  heart, 
human  or  divine,  can  rejoice  in  that  which  tends  to 
increase  the  sum  ?  When  we  know  of  some  desper 
ate  criminal  expiating  his  life-long  cruelties,  is  the 
sense  of  keen  satisfaction  we  feel  of  the  heavens 
heavenly  ?  We  may  satisfy  ourselves  that  it  is  our 
natural  love  of  justice  which  the  God  of  Justice  him 
self  has  implanted  in  us,  and  which  he  shares  with 
us.  But  justice  is  only  another  name  for  right,  and 
right  is  never  malevolence.  If  the  pain  of  others  is 
to  result  in  greater  good  to  them  or  to  the  world,  it 
is  Godlike  to  rejoice  in  the  good  and  to  accept  the 
pain  for  its  sake ;  but  it  is  Satanic  to  rejoice  in  the 
pain.  When  we  feel  our  hearts  bound  with  exulta 
tion  at  the  recital  of  richly  deserved  suffering,  is  it 
on  account  of  the  future  good  or  on  account  of  the 
present  evil  ?  Do  our  pulses  quicken  with  joy  at  the 
thought  of  the  possible  reformation  of  a  criminal  or 
of  benefit  to  society?  If  so,  we  may  well  rejoice — • 
we  have  gone  a  long  way  in  our  journey  to  the  ce 
lestial  city. 


HECTOR   VYR   VISITS   PESC11IXO.  305 

The  poetry  of  justice  was  but  feebly  exemplified 
in  the  fate  of  the  li<(j>it(in  Peschino,  at  least  so  far 
as  human  vision  extends.  To  say  nothing  of  his 

»/  O 

long  years  of  outlawry,  his  last  act  of  fiendish  cruel 
ty  should  have  been  expiated  by  at  least  the  utmost 
pain  and  ignominy  the  law  could  inflict,  or  by  a  lin 
gering,  painful  death  at  the  severer  hand  of  Nature. 
On  the  contrary,  however,  whatever  his  mental  ex 
periences  may  have  been,  his  physical  suffering  was 
comparatively  slight.  The  anaesthetic  administered 
to  him  at  the  time  of  the  amputation  of  his  limbs, 
and  the  unskilful  performance  of  that  operation,  left 
him  in  a  state  of  exhaustion  from  which  he  never 
rallied.  Day  after  day  he  lay  in  a  semi -comatose 
condition.  Only  at  long  intervals  did  he  awake  to 
full  consciousness,  and  only  for  a  short  time  at  each. 
It  was  during  one  of  these  intervals  that  Hector  Vyr 
paid  him  his  first  visit.  Then,  indeed,  for  a  few 
fearful  moments  he  tasted  the  retribution  he  so  abun 
dantly  merited. 

As  his  languid  eyes  fell  upon  the  noble  counte 
nance  he  had  seen  so  frightfully  distorted,  but  now 
so  placid,  and  upon  the  kingly  form  he  had  caused 
to  writhe  in  agony,  but  now  firm,  erect,  with  every 
appearance  of  health  and  power  restored,  he  recoiled 
with  a  look  of  indescribable  horror,  and  gave  utter 
ance  to  a  shriek  so  wild,  so  unearthly,  that  his  vis 
itor  instinctively  retreated  from  the  room.  Then  a 
deep  but  gentle  voice  came  through  the  nearly  closed 
door: 

u  May  I  come  in,  Peschino  ?" 


30G  A  DEMIGOD. 

"  No !  no  !  Go  away !  The  very  sight  of  you 
will  destroy  mo !" 

But  it  was  not  long  before  Hector  Vyr  sat  beside 
his  bed,  listening  to  sobs  which  shook  the  narrow  cot 
and  drew  tears  from  his  own  pitying  eyes. 

"It  is  not  as  you  think,  my  poor  friend.  I  have 
not  come  to  torment  you." 

"You  cannot  hurt  my  body,"  came  the  answer, 
brokenly,  convulsively — "  it  is  nearly  gone  already — 
but  you  can  torment  my  soul." 

"  Alas !  I  have  come  to  do  your  soul  good." 

"  Good !  After  what  I  did  to  you  !  No,  no,  no ! 
it  is  not  possible !  It  was  four  hours  I  kept  you 
there— -four  hours!  You  were  very  near  death  when 
Heaven  interposed  and  saved  you." 

"Heaven  will  save  you  too,  Peschino." 

"Save  mef"  Words  cannot  describe  the  amaze 
ment  with  which  these  two  words  were  uttered,  nor 
the  laugh  of  wild  scorn  which  followed. 

"  Yes.  Do  you  think  that  Infinite  Goodness  is  less 
forgiving  than  Hector  Vyr  ?" 

"  Do  you — forgive — me  ?" 

"  "With  all  my  heart  and  soul !"  And  Vyr's  hands, 
which  still  showed  the  marks  of  the  awful  cruelty 
they  had  suffered,  grasped  the  cold,  trembling  hands 
of  Peschino. 

For  a  while  the  wretch  did  not  speak,  but  lay  pant 
ing.  Then  he  tore  his  hands  away  and  with  them 
covered  his  face.  "It  cannot  be.  I  cannot  receive 
so  much  from  you.  It  is  not  just." 

"If  I  can  give,  cannot  you  receive?" 


HECTOR   VYR   VISITS   PESCHINO.  3Q7 

"  You — Hector  Yyr — really — forgive — Pescliino?" 
"  As  I  hope  tliat  Heaven  will  forgive  me  !" 
"  0  Kyi'ie  eh'ixoii !  0  Christe  ctiison  /" 

During  the  few  days  of  life  that  remained  to  Pes- 
chino,  he  was  visited  not  only  by  Vyr,  but  by  the 
others  whom  he  had  wronged,  and  who,  influenced 
both  by  Yyr's  example  and  by  the  piteous  spectacle 
of  the  fallen  brigand's  weakness  and  penitence,  left 
him  at  last  with  something  very  like  sorrow,  if  not 
sorrow  itself. 

Among  his  visitors  was  Tsaras,  who  besought  him 
to  do  him  a  last  act  of  justice. 

"Ah,"  said  the  dying  klepht,  "you  played  your 
part  well ;  and  I  am  glad  you  succeeded.  There 
would  have  been  one  victim  the  less.  I  really  be 
lieved  that  you  led  those  people  into  my  snare  for  a 
share  of  the  booty.  Such  things  have  been  done  for 
me.  Your  cunning  did  them  no  harm,  but  might 
have  done  them  much  good.  Yes,  Tsaras,  I  release 
you  from  your  oath,  and  I  will  moreover  sign  a  writ 
ing  declaring  that  you  were  true  and  faithful  to  your 
friends.  They  will  believe  even  Peschino's  dying 
testimony." 

Robert  Griffin  was  the  only  one  of  our  acquaint 
ances  to  whom  the  brigand's  death  brought  unmin- 
gled  joy.  To  him  the  sound  of  the  falling  clods  was 
like  the  sound  of  music,  for  they  told  of  lips  forever 
mute.  When  he  learned  that  the  other  prisoners 
had  met  their  fate  at  the  guillotine,  and  was  satisfied 
that  his  dark  secret  had  not  been  betrayed,  his  breath 


308  A    DEMIGOD. 

came  freely  again,  and  lie  gradually  resumed  Iris  old 
self-assurance.  The  constant  fear  and  remorse  he 
had  suffered  had  so  engrossed  his  mind  that,  for  the 
time  being,  he  had  almost  forgotten  his  passion  for 
Madeline,  and  as  he  had  now  become  convinced  of 
its  utter  hopelessness,  he  had  the  wisdom  to  accept 
his  lot  with  resignation.  It  was  not  many  days, 
therefore,  before  he  seized  opportunities  to  join  in 
the  counsels  of  the  family,  and  he  even  went  so  far 
as  to  address  himself  to  Yyr  with  as  little  apparent 
reserve  or  embarrassment  as  if  he  did  not  deserve 
the  execrations  of  the  one  and  the  direst  vengeance 
of  the  other.  In  the  estimation  of  his  uncle  Warren 
and  of  his  aunt  Eliza  he  of  course  stood  far  higher 

O 

than  ever  before.  Madeline's  want  of  enthusiastic 
gratitude  for  the  gallant  service  he  was  supposed  to 
have  rendered  her  was  a  source  of  profound  aston 
ishment  and  grief  to  them.  She  received  their  re 
proaches  with  patience  and  humility,  and  promised 
to  try  to  feel  as  she  ought. 

"Rebellions  in  Pandemonium!"  exclaimed  the 
major,  "  what  ails  the  girl  ?  You  never  failed  to 
feel  as  you  ought  before.  Are  your  gratitude  and 
appreciation  so  entirely  appropriated  that  you  have 
none  left  for  this  poor,  brave  boy?  Can't  you  be 
satisfied  with  throwing  him  over,  without  cheating 
him  out  of  everything — even  the  decent  recognition 
you  would  give  a  beggar  who  should  do  for  you  one- 
tenth  of  what  Robert  has  done?" 

But  she  did  not  speak  of  the  dark,  torturing  sus 
picion  that  was  in  her  heart ;  and,  although  some 


HECTOR   YYR   VISITS   PESCIIINO.  -J09 

trace  of  her  former  cousinly  manner  towards  Rob 
ert  occasionally  appeared,  they  were  never  again  for 
an  instant  the  congenial  pair  they  had  been. 

With  the  now  fully  recovered  victim  of  his  treach 
ery  Griffin's  relation  was  most  peculiar.  A  not  un 
common  effect  of  wrong-doing  is  an  increasing  aver 
sion  to  the  one  injured.  In  this  instance  the  effect 
was  the  reverse.  The  meanest  and  most  cowardly 
villain  is  sometimes  capable  of  feeling  a  sincere  ad 
miration  for  his  opposite  in  character.  One  of  the 
oldest  of  sayings  is  that  unlike  natures  attract  one 
another  like  the  opposite  poles  of  the  magnet.  When 
this  attraction  exists  between  the  good  and  the  evil, 
the  noble  and  the  ignoble,  it  shows  itself  on  the  one 
side  in  a  longing  to  reform  and  elevate  the  other, 
and  on  the  other  side  in  a  desire,  if  not  to  be  purified 
and  ennobled,  at  least  to  be  permitted  to  contemplate 
and  wonder  at  that  which  is  as  sublime  as  it  is  unat 
tainable.  A  singular  attraction  certainly  grew  up 
between  these  two,  like  that  between  the  sun  and 
some  frozen,  barren  planet  which  it  tries  to  warm 
into  life. 

Griffin's  animosity  to  Hector  Yyr  had  been  due  to 
a  stinging  sense  of  his  own  immeasurable  inferiority 
as  well  as  to  the  ill-balanced  rivalry  between  them 
for  the  love  of  Madeline  Paul.  It  was  far  more 
than  satisfied  with  the  unspeakably  atrocious  reprisal 
lie  had  taken,  and  was  now  followed  by  the  deepest 
repentance  and  admiration,  from  which  every  parti 
cle  of  envy  was  purged.  To  admiration  was  soon 
added  genuine  friendship,  and  to  friendship  an  affec- 


810  A    DEMIGOD. 

tion  almost  like  that  of  a  child  for  its  father.  la 
every  way,  save  that  of  confession,  he  did  all  in  his 
power  to  atone  for  the  past.  This  was*,  of  course, 
very,  very  little ;  still,  if  never-ceasing  remorse  is  to 
be  accounted,  it  was  something. 

Yyr  appeared  to  enjoy  his  friendship  and,  in  a 
certain  way,  to  reciprocate  it.  Although  he  would 
never  invite  him  into  his  house,  he  did  him  many 
other  favors:  he  talked  with  him  a  great  deal,  and 
frequently  took  long  walks  with  him  ;  but  even  in 
speech  there  was  a  barrier  which  he  never  suffered 
him  to  pass :  just  as  he  was  willing  and  anxious  to 
give  him  free  entree  to  his  garden  and  his  outlying 
estates,  but  closed  against  him  every  door  of  his  house, 
so  he  admitted  him  to  every  subject  of  conversation 
except  himself  (as  to  Madeline,  Griffin  did  not  dream 
of  venturing  the  most  distant  allusion  to  her).  When 
ever  Griffin  approached  the  subject  of  their  growing 
intimacy  or  his  own  sentiments  towards  him,  Yyr 
became  coldly  silent,  or  immediately  diverted  his 
thoughts  to  something  else.  It  was  evident  that, 
however  much  they  might  have  to  say  to  each  other, 
it  was  to  be  only  upon  things  entirely  disconnected 
with  the  personality  of  either. 


HOW   THIS   STORY  CAME  TO   BE   WRITTEN.        3H 


XXV. 

HOW   THIS    STORY    CAME    TO    BE    WRITTEN. 

IN  spite  of  Vyr's  well-known  aversion  to  every 
sort  and  degree  of  public  recognition,  a  few  days  af 
ter  Peschino's  death  a  deputation  arrived  at  Athens, 
with  a  request  that  M.  Hector  Vyr  should  present 
himself  at  Court,  and  receive  official  acknowledg 
ment  of  the  signal  services  he  had  lately,  and  on  sev 
eral  former  occasions,  rendered  in  rescuing  his  Maj 
esty's  subjects  and  those  of  foreign  powers  from  the 
klephts. 

The  deputation  was  courteously  received  ;  but  the 
request  was  positively  declined  with  due  gratitude 
for  the  honors  intended.  The  only  return  M.  Vyr 
desired  was  such  as  he  had  formerly  received,  with 
permission  to  continue  in  the  obscurity  in  which  his 
life  had  thus  far  been  passed.  To  this  end  he  hum 
bly  prayed  that,  so  far  as  his  Majesty's  Government 
could  carry  out  his  wish,  nothing  should  be  said  or 
done,  either  in  public  or  private,  which  would  in  any 
way  tend  to  bring  him  into  further  notoriety.  Most 
especially  he  desired  that  nothing  should  be  permitted 
to  appear  in  the  public  prints  bearing  directly  or  in 
directly  upon  him,  his  acts,  or  his  affairs.  If  his  pe 
tition  should  be  granted,  he  should  try  to  discharge 
in  the  future,  as  he  had  done  in  the  past,  his  duties 


312  A   DEMIGOD. 

as  a  private  citizen,  as  a  private  soldier  of  his  Maj 
esty's  army  with  peculiar  privileges  and  immunities, 
and  as  a  friend  of  law,  order,  and  humanity.  More 
than  this  he  trusted  would  not  be  required  of  him. 

With  this  answer  the  agents  of  his  Majesty's  Gov 
ernment  were  forced  to  be  content. 

Accompanying  the  deputation  was  Mr.  Caleb  Gold- 
apple,  Secretary  of  the  American  Legation,  who  had 
special  business  to  transact  with  his  countryman,  the 
guest  of  M.  Hector  Vyr.  This  person,  having  been 
invited  to  Major  Paul's  private  drawing-room,  effu 
sively  congratulated  him  on  his  well-nigh  miraculous 
escape  from  the  brigands,  commented  on  the  remark 
able  qualities  of  his  deliverer  and  host,  and  then  pre 
sented  a  letter  and  two  cable  despatches,  all  from 
Josiah  Jobling,  of  the  firm  of  Jobling,  Hotchkiss  & 
Paul,  Boston,  U.  S. 

Cable  Despatch  No.  1  was  dated  September  23d, 
and  stated  substantially  that  all  efforts  to  raise  the 
required  ransom  had  failed,  and  furthermore  that  the 
Western  parties  had  backed  out. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourselves,  you  peddling,  miserly 
skinflints !"  ejaculated  the  major,  dashing  the  paper 
on  the  floor.  "  Thank  fortune,  I  had  somebody  to 
help  me  that  was  worth  a  thousand  hundred  million 
such  muck-worms  as  Jobling  and  Hotchkiss !  But 
who  in  the  devil  are  the  Western  parties  ?" 

Cable  Despatch  No.  2  was  dated  September  24th, 
10  o'clock  A.M.,  and  announced,  in  substance,  that  the 
firm  had  themselves  decided  to  advance  the  required 
sum. 


HOW   THIS  STORY   CAME   TO   BE    W1UTTEX.        313 

The  major  reckoned  :  "  September  24th,  10  o'clock 
A.M.  The  despatch  announcing  my  rescue  was  sent 
from  Sparta  at  2  o'clock  P.M.  on  September  24th.  Al 
lowing  for  all  delays,  it  must  have  reached  Jobling  at 
9  o'clock  A.M.  at  the  very  latest — a  full  hour  before 
he  sent  this!  Ah-ha!  ah-ha-a-a!  They're  a  magnan 
imous  pair,  are  Josiah  P.  Jobling  and  Marshall  W. 
Hotchkiss!  a  noble,  high-souled  couple  of  saints! 
an  angelic  brace  of  players  on  the  golden  harp ! 
They've  decided  to  advance  the  whole  fifty  thousand 
dollars,  have  they  ?  I  suppose  the  Western  parties 
have  backed  in  !  Unprecedented  generosity  !  unpar 
alleled  munificence  !  Was  there  ever  such  an  exhibi 
tion  of  heroic  self-sacrifice  since  the  days  of  Damon 
and  Pythias!  They  ought  to  have  fifty  thousand 
leather  medals  struck  off  and  hung  round  their  necks  ! 
Confound  the  sneaking,  hypocritical,  Jesuitical  hum 
bugs  !  Going  to  advance  the  whole  fifty  thousand 
dollars,  are  they  ? — fifty  thousand  fiddle-sticks  !  fifty 
thousand  pop-guns,  pepper-corns,  rotten  eggs,  dead 
cats,  rattlesnakes  !  Oh,  Mr.  Goldapple.  you  just  wait 
till  I  get  to  Boston — won't  I  reel  it  off  to  'em  !  won't 
I  give  them  a  few  quotations  from  Baxter's '  Saints' 
Rest !'  won't  I  make  their  heads  hum,  buzz,  fizz, 
sing,  snap,  sizzle!" 

Mr.  Goldapple  thought  it  not  at  all  improbable 
that  he  would. 

Having  thus  expended  his  scorn  at,  and  exultation 
over,  Messrs.  Jobling  and  Hotchkiss,  safe  and  undcaf- 
ened  six  thousand  miles  away,  the  major  opened  the 
letter  with  a  smile  of  amiable  curiosity  to  see  what 


314  A   DEMIGOD. 

further  display  of  phenomenal  liberality  it  might 
present. 

"BOSTON,  August  6, 18 — . 

"My  DEAR  PAUL, — Times  are  decidedly  looking 
up  with  us."  (Oh,  they  are,  are  they  ?)  "  The  Mose- 
by  sales  netted  us  a  cool  fifteen  thousand — I  cabled 
you  only  twelve,  but  there  was  a  supplementary  or 
der."  (By  George,  that's  good  news!)  "What  do 
you  say  to  that,  old  boy  ?"  (I  say  it  only  proves  how 
cussed  mean  you  are.)  "Whitlow  &  Co. have  failed, 
however"  (What's  this?), "  which  offsets  nearly  a  third 
of  the  Moseby  profit."  (All  an  infernal  swindle,  I'll 
bet  my  head !)  "  The  rascally  beats  paid  only  twen 
ty-two  per  cent.  Whitlow's  wife  outshone  every 
body  with  her  new  diamonds  at  the  Toastman  jam 
boree  only  a  week  before  the  failure." 

(Here  the  major  stopped  reading  and  effervesced, 
until  the  Whitlow  failure  and  the  Toastman  jambo 
ree  were  no  more  to  him  than  a  trilling  mercantile 
transaction  and  an  interesting  item  of  society  news.) 

"But  we  shall  make  that  all  up,"  the  letter  went 
on,  "  and  ten  times  as  much  on  top  of  it "  (All  right ; 
then  you  will  be  ready  to  do  something  for  me) 
"within  the  next  three  months."  (Ah!)  "We  have 
got  some  responsible  Western  parties  "  (Yes,  I  see) 
"  in  tow,  who  will  probably  want  fifty  thousand  dol 
lars'  worth  at  the  very  least."  (That's  just  like  Job- 
ling!)  "Will  let  you  know  by  cable  the  instant 
the  contract  is  signed. 

"  Well,  old  fellow,  I  hope  you  are  enjoying  your 
selves  among  the  marble  temples  and  broken-armed 


HOW   THIS  STORY   CAME   TO  BE   WRITTEN.        315 

'stone  gals.":  (Oh  yes!  we've  enjoyed  ourselves!) 
"Don't  let  your  charming  daughter"  (Confound  his 
impudence !)  "  fall  in  love  with  any  of  those  beggarly 
Greeks,  with  their  slim  waists,  black  eyes,  and  straight 
noses."  (Don't  you  fret,  Jobling.)  "  If  she  does,  give 
them  some  grape  and  canister  from  that  twenty-four 
inch  columbiad  you  call  your  mouth."  (Ha,  ha  !  Job- 
ling  isn't  such  a  bad  fellow  after  all,  sometimes.) 
"  Griffin  will  look  out  for  those  chaps,  however." 
(Poor  Bob !)  "  By-the-bye,  do  you  suppose  he  could 
be  persuaded  to  part  with  some  of  his  Eastern  Pa 
cific  if  we  should  get  into  a  particularly  tight  place  ? 
Sound  him  on  that. 

"One  thing  more:  don't  think  of  coming  home 
for  another  solid  year.  Anybody  that  has  worked 
as  hard  as  you  have  for  the  last  twenty-five  years" 
(Oh,  slop !),  "  including  your  three  years  of  noble 
self-sacrifice  in  the  war"  (What  disgusting  drivel!), 
"  ought  to  have  a  rest  of  three  years  at  the  very 
least."  (Well,  I  think  I  ought.)  "  We  should  all  like 
to  see  you,  of  course  "  (Guess  not,  if  he  knew  what 
I've  got  to  say!);  "but  business  is  all  right,  and — 
well,  you  know  all  about  that,  Paul."  (li'm,  h'm !) 
"  I  have  sent  you  papers  by  every  steamer ;  hope  you 
have  received  them  all  right.  Remember  us  both  to 
Miss  Wellington  and  Miss  Madeline.  I  suppose  she 
will  be  Mrs.  Griffin  when  we  see  her  next."  (Not 
much,  she  won't !)  "  Let  us  hear  from  you  as  often 
as  you  can  about  your  travels — don't  waste  any  time 
writing  business.  Faithfully  you  re, 

"  JOSIAII  P.  JOBLING." 


316  A   DEMIGOD. 

"Hang  me  if  I  believe  I  shall  ever  go  back  again  !" 
said  Major  Paul,  throwing  the  letter  down  to  keep 
company  with  the  cablegrams  on  the  floor.  "  They 
don't  want  me,  and  I  swear  I  don't  want  to  see  any 
of  their  faces  again  as  long  as  I  live !  They  would 
have  let  me  and  all  my  family  be  murdered  in  cold 
blood  rather  than  part  with  their  filthy  dollars !  If 
there's  ever  another  war,  Uncle  Sam  may  find  his 
majors  where  he  can  !" 

"  Don't  be  ungrateful  to  Uncle  Sam,"  said  the  sec 
retary,  who  had  been  busy  arranging  a  file  of  docu 
ments.  "  If  the  brigands  had  dared  to  harm  you, 
there  would  have  been  terrible  reprisals  taken.  The 
world  knows  well  that  free  and  innocent  American 
citizens  are  not  to  be  slaughtered  with  impunity." 

"  Reprisals !"  echoed  the  major,  growing  suddenly 
apoplectic  from  his  inability  to  express  himself  as 
the  occasion  demanded  ;  "  that  would  be  eminently 
satisfactory !  A  man  would  be  unreasonable  indeed 
that  should  complain  of  that !" 

"  But  that  isn't  all,"  rejoined  Mr.  Goldapple,  look 
ing  a  little  foolish  :  "  you  probably  will  never  know 
the  full  extent  of  the  efforts  which  were  made  in 
your  behalf.  The  matter  was  thoroughly  canvassed 
in  the  House  ;  the  lobbies  were  full  of  it.  But,  you 
see,  there  were  peculiar  difficulties — the  spectacle  of 
a  nation  of  nearly  sixty  millions  of  people  submit 
ting  to  be  robbed  by  a  corporal's  guard  of  Greek 
bandits  would  have  been  a  little — well,  humiliating, 
to  say  the  least.  Still,  for  all  that,  it  was  out  of  the 
question  to  let  you  die,  without  doing  everything 


HOW   THIS   STORY  CAME  TO   BE   WRITTEN.        317 

that  was  possible  to  save  you.  If  worst  had  came  to 
worst,  there  is  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  the  ran 
som  would  have  been  raised,  either  by  private  sub 
scription  or  by  public  appropriation." 

"  Worst  had  pretty  nearly  come  to  worst,"  sug 
gested  the  major. 

"  Oil  no ;  there  was  plenty  of  time.  There  was 
talk  of  sending  a  military  force  to  rescue  you ;  but 
that,  you  know,  was  the  business  of  the  Greek  Gov 
ernment.  They  were  importuned  enough  on  that 
subject,  I  assure  you — witness  this  pile  of  letters  and 
documents  I've  brought  for  you  to  examine.  You 
know  what  the  result  was :  that  detachment  sent  to 
your  relief  was  the  response  to  your  country's  de 
mand,  Major  Paul.  To  be  sure,  the  movement  was 
not  quite  as  prompt  as  it  might  have  been ;  but  still 
it  would  have  been  in  time,  even  if  it  had  not  been 
so  happily  anticipated.  I  don't  think  you  have  any 
thing  to  complain  of,  sir,"  concluded  the  secretary, 
with  dignity. 

"  Well,  one  thing  is  sure,  at  any  rate,"  said  the  ma 
jor,  "  we  are  all  right  now" 

"  And  you  would  have  been,  in  any  event." 

"I'm  not  sure  of  that.  I  suppose  those  villains 
would  have  cut  all  our  throats  before  they  would 
have  given  us  up." 

"  If  they  had  chosen  to  do  that,  no  power  on  earth 
could  have  prevented  them." 

"No;  you're  right,  Mr.  Goldapple,  and  for  that 
very  reason  a  ransom  would  have  been  better  for  us 
than  an  attempt  at  rescue.  Still,  I  fully  appreciate 


318  A   DEMIGOD. 

the  objections,  and  I  will  not  be  ungrateful.  I  pre 
sume  everything  was  done  for  us  that  could  be  rea 
sonably  expected.  I  shall  always  be  a  true,  loyal 
American  wherever  I  live ;  but  I  think  it  very  pos 
sible  I  shall  decide  not  to  return  to  Boston,  consider 
ing  all  the  circumstances.  Athens  is  not  such  a  bad 
place  for  a  residence ;  and  now  that  my  daughter— 
"What  would  you  think  of  settling  down  for  life  in 
Athens,  Mr.  Goldapple  ?" 

"  Oh,  If  Well,  my  circumstances  are  very  differ 
ent  from  yours,  you  know.  I've  seen  pretty  nearly 
all  Europe,  and  the  United  States  is  good  enough  for 
me." 

"The  more  I  think  of  it,"  the  major  went  on, 
ignoring  the  secretary's  reply  to  his  question,  "  the 
more  the  idea  pleases  me.  Since  my  wife's  death, 
five  years  ago,  there's  nobody  in  particular  that  I 
care  for  at  home.  I  don't  suppose  my  daughter  will 
ever  return— that  is,  to  stay.  She's  more  to  me,  sir, 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  world  put  together.  I've 
got  capital  enough  in  that  firm  to  keep  me  going,  if 
J.  and  H.  give  me  fair  play,  and  I  guess  there'll  be  no 
trouble  about  that.  You've  lived  in  Athens  a  good 
while,  Mr.  Goldapple ;  don't  you  think  there's  some 
pretty  fair  people  there,  on  the  whole  2" 

"  Oh  yes,  Major  Paul,  of  course  there  are.  Society 
is  rather  heterogeneous,  however,  in  Athens.  It  may 
be  divided  pretty  distinctly  into  three  classes.  In 
the  first  place,  there  are  the  Autochthones,  or  true 
Athenians.  You  can't  get  in  among  them,  for  they 
despise  everything  that  is  foreign  ;  they  call  all  for- 


HOW   THIS   STORY   CAME  TO   BE   WRITTEN.        319 

cigners  Ileterochthones,  just  as  the  old  Hellenes  used 
to  call  everybody  else  Barbarians.  They  swindle  and 
cheat—" 

"  Who— the  Ileterogones  2" 

"No  ;  the  A utochthones.  They  cheat  and  swindle 
the  poor  Ileterochthones  without  the  least  compunc 
tion — that  is,  some  of  them  do ;  there  are  honorable 
exceptions,  of  course — most  of  the  magistrates,  pro 
fessors,  and  merchants,  for  instance,  will  compare  fa 
vorably  with  those  of  any  other  civilized  country." 

"  Well,"  said  the  major,  "  we  have  the  Automatons 
and  the  Heteroclites — who  are  the  third  class?" 

"  The  Phandriotes,  or  Byzantine  Greeks.  They 
are  generally  wealthy  and  cultivated,  have  travelled 
a  good  deal  and  got  their  minds  expanded,  you  know. 
The  others  are  jealous  of  them — " 

"  The  Heterodoxies  2" 

"  No ;  the  Autochthones — so  the  Phandriotes  are 
more  apt  to  be  friendly  with  foreigners — " 

"  Or  Ileteropods  2" 

"Ileterochthones.  Their  ladies  are  handsome,  ac 
complished,  and  are  everlastingly  chatting — " 

"  The  Pharaohs'  2" 

"The  P ha n <ir ivies'.  You  will  enjoy  their  salons, 
Major  Paul.  Yes — decidedly  your  place  is  among 
the  Phandriofat" 

"  All  right,"  answered  the  major.  "  Henceforth  I 
am  a  PhandrioU" 

"  No,  you  cannot  be  that,  for  you  are  not  a  Greek 
by  descent ;  but  as  a  respectable,  well-to-do  Ileteroch- 
thon  you  can  fraternize  with  the  Phandriotes.  You 
21 


820  A  DEMIGOD. 

will  not  forget,  however,  tliat  you  are  an  American, 
I  hope." 

"Never!  I  am  an  American  now  and  forever, 
one  and  inseparable.  Halloo  !  who  is  this  ?" 

Happening  to  glance  through  the  window,  Major 
Paul  had  seen  a  consequential-looking  individual  in 
European  dress  swaggering  up  the  path,  accompanied 
by  one  of  the  bridge  guards. 

"  Good  heavens !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Goldapple,  feel 
ing;  the  blood  rush  into  his  cheeks,  "has  that  fellow 

o  t 

got  iii  ?  Well,  if  that  isn't  the  most  monumental  au 
dacity  I  ever  saw,  even  in  Yankee-land !  He's  the 
correspondent  of  the  New  York  Gimlet.  He  tried 
to  wedge  himself  in  with  my  party,  but  we  gave  him 
what  he  would  call  the  '  Grand  Bounce.'  He  want 
ed  to  interview  your  eccentric  champion.  Fancy 
it!" 

Major  Paul  was  so  delighted  that  he  could  not 
contain  himself.  "  Let  him  try  it !"  he  cried,  danc 
ing  round  the  room,  "let  him  try  it!  If  he  doesn't 
get  shot  up  so  high  that  he'll  never  come  down  again 
I'll  eat  a  year's  file  of  his  Gimlets  /" 

The  stranger  ascended  the  steps  with  professional 
self-possession,  and  seated  himself  on  the  veranda  as 
if  it  belonged  to  a  New  York  politician's  villa  on  the 
Hudson.  As  soon  as  the  royal  deputation  had  been 
dismissed  he  was  ushered  into  Yyr's  "office." 

Unabashed  by  the  cool  stare  of  inquiry  with  which 
he  was  received,  he  began,  with  his  professional  bow, 

"  M.  Hector  Yyr,  I  presume." 

"Yes." 


HOW   THIS  STORY   CAME   TO   BE   WRITTEN.        321 

"  Allow  me  to  introduce  myself :  J.  P.  Thumb,  of 
New  York." 

"  What  is  your  business  with  me  ?" 

"  I  have  been  told,  sir,  that  you  are  a  man  who 
hates  all  kinds  of  beating  round  the  bush;  that  there 
is  no  use  in  boring  you  with  ceremonious  prelimi 
naries,  nor  attempting  with  you  any  of  the  delicate 
finesse  which  gentlemen  of  my  profession  feel  obliged 
to  resort  to  in  approaching  other  distinguished  characr 
ters.  I  have  been  told,  in  short,  that  you  would  see 
through  everything  of  that  sort  in  a  twinkling,  and 
would  be  simply  disgusted  with  it,  if  not  mortally 
offended.  As  that  is  precisely  my  own  character,  I 
will  approach  you  in  a  manly,  straightforward  way, 
such  as  I  think  must  appeal  to  your  generous  sympa 
thies,  and  tell  you  at  once,  in  as  few  words  as  possi 
ble,  my  object  in  calling  upon  you." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Vyr,  with  an  ominous  glance  tow 
ards  the  door,  then  at  the  window. 

"•  In  spite  of  your  reputed  efforts  to  hide  your 
dazzling  light  under  a  bushel,  sir,  your  fame  has 
reached  even  as  far  as  America.  However  much 
you  may  deplore  this  " — with  an  ingratiating  smile — 
"  it  is  past  remedy  now.  Your  recent  act  of  unpar 
alleled  heroism  in  rescuing  my  unfortunate  compa 
triot  and  his  family  from  the  brigands  has— 

"  Your  business!"  thundered  Vyr.  His  voice 
shook  the  room.  The  correspondent  felt  a  peculiar 
sense  of  suffocation,  as  if  a  cannon  had  been  dis 
charged  behind  his  buck. 


322  A  DEMIGOD. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon  —  sir.  I  was  not  aware 
that— that— " 

"  YOUR  BUSINESS  !" 

"  Cer  —  certainly  —  certainly,"  stammered  Mr. 
Thumb,  breathlessly,  sidling  towards  the  door.  "  I 
am  the  representative  of  the  New  York  Gimlet,  sir. 
I — I — the  people  have  learned  something  of  you  al 
ready — and  they  wish  to  know — they  have  a  right 
to  know  more  of  the  wonderful  man  who — " 

Vyr  took  one  long  stride,  seized  the  luckless  vic 
tim  of  his  own  rashness  by  the  collar  with  one 
mighty  hand,  opened  the  window  with  the  other,  and 
gently  set  him  outside,  as  if  he  had  been  a  bag  of 
straw.  "  Stathas,"  he  said  to  the  guard,  "  take  this 
person  away ;  and  henceforth  allow  no  one  to  cross 
the  bridge  until  I  have  first  been  informed  who  he 
is  and  what  he  wishes." 

Of  course  Major  Paul  and  the  secretary  had  been 
on  the  lookout,  and  the  air  of  general  collapse  with 
which  the  discomfited  interviewer  picked  his  way 
down  the  slope,  hard  pressed  by  the  guard,  afforded 
them  much  amusement. 

"  He  will  make  his  report  all  the  same,"  remarked 
the  major,  when  they  had  laughed  their  fill. 

"  Of  course  he  will.  I  fancy  I  can  already  see  the 
startling  head-lines  and  double-leaded  columns  in  the 
Gimlet.  His  eye  took  in  instantaneously  everything 
there  was  in  the  room,  every  article  of  clothing  Mr. 
Yyr  had  on ;  and  his  walk  from  the  ravine  to  the 
house  has  given  him  material  for  a  solid  column,  at 
the  least." 


HOW   THIS   STOIIY   CAME  TO   BE   WRITTEN".        333 

"  He  won't  write  so  mucli  about  his  walk  back" 
laughed  Major  Paul. 

"  Oh  yes.  His  alchemy  will  find  good  matter 
even  in  that.  These  magnanimous  gentlemen  never 
descend  to  petty  personal  resentments.  Your  cham 
pion  is  doomed  to  be  famous  now  in  spite  of  himself. 
Within  a  month  there  will  be  an  army  of  sight-seers 
besieging  his  castle." 

"And  I  and  my  family  will  be  the  unhappy 
cause,"  moaned  the  major.  "  He'll  wish  he  had  let 
us  all  perish  before  he  opened  the  floodgates  upon 
himself  in  this  way — blister  the  whole  race  of  pry 
ing,  gossiping,  goggle-eyed  blabbers !  "What  can  be 
done?  They'll  get  small  satisfaction  —  that's  one 
comfort.  He  will  intrench  himself,  pull  in  his  log- 
bridge,  and  woe  to  the  foolhardy  gabbler  that  offers 
to  find  another  for  himself !" 

"Well,"  responded  the  secretary,  "the  mischief's 
done,  and  it  can't  be  helped.  M.  Hector  Vyr  must 
accept  glory,  whether  he  will  or  no." 

"  Mr.  Goldapple  !"  exploded  the  major,  as  if  a  new 
and  brilliant  idea  had  popped  into  his  head. 

"  Well,  what  now  ?" 

"  The  mischief  is  already  done,  as  you  say." 

"  Yes  ;  there's  no  doubt  of  that." 

"  And  there's  no  possible  help  for  it." 

"Not  the  slightest.  You  can't  stop  their  tongues 
from  wagging  now,  any  more  than  you  can  prevent 
the  winds  from  blowing." 

"  Then  we  must  countervail  them." 

"  How  ?     What  do  you  mean  V 


824  A   DEMIGOD. 

"Why,  if  Hector  Vyr  must  be  talked  about  and 
written  about,  it  had  better  be  the  truth  than  all  sorts 
of  vile,  twisted,  garbled,  scurrilous,  preposterous,  idi 
otic  lies,  hadn't  it  ?" 

"  I  don't  imagine  there  will  be  any  intentional  in 
justice  done  him,"  replied  Mr.  Goldapple,  somewhat 
overcome  by  the  shower  of  adjectives. 

"  I  don't  know.  The  reception  that  pitiful,  scrub 
by  interviewer  got  wasn't  exactly  what  you  might 
call  affable." 

"  Not  exactly,"  laughed  the  secretary. 

"  And  I  don't  believe  interviewers  are  proof  against 
resentments  any  more  than  other  men.  I  tell  you 
what,  Mr.  Goldapple,  you  write  his  story." 

"/?"  starting  back. 

"Yes.  You  can  do  him  justice — at  least  you  tell 
the  truth.  I'll  talk  with  him  about  it,  and  I  know 
he  will  give  his  consent.  One  of  the  cardinal  points 
of  his  philosophy  is  to  accept  the  less  of  two  evils 
when  one  is  inevitable." 

Mr.  Goldapple  put  his  finger  to  his  forehead  and 
thought  a  long  time. 

"I  suppose  you  could  give  me  all  the  necessary 
data  ?"  he  asked,  at  length. 

"  Of  course,  of  course." 

"  Well,  we'll  see." 

And  that  is  how  this  story  came  to  be  written. 


AU   REVOIR.  335 


XXVI. 

AU    EEVOIK. 

THE  first  unmistakable  smile  that  visited  the  face 
of  Madame  Yyr  in  these  days  was  welcomed  with 
all  the  enthusiasm  that  greeted  the  first  doubtful 
smile  of  her  infancy  in  that  noble  old  mansion  on 
the  Thames.  It  was  a  beautiful  smile,  rather  with 
the  eyes  than  with  the  lips.  She  gave  it  one  morn 
ing  at  breakfast,  when  she  was  assured  that,  though 
Madeline  Paul  was  soon  to  depart  with  her  friends, 
it  was  only  for  a  time.  She  had  conceived  a  great 
fondness  for  the  girl,  whose  splendid  vigor  and  beau 
ty  brought  back  so  vividly  her  own  youth ;  and  this 
sentiment  stirring  in  the  depths  of  her  heart,  was  like 
a  stream  of  pure,  fresh  water  flowing  into  a  stagnant 
pool.  It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that,  when  she 
clearly  understood  the  happiness  in  store  for  her,  her 
sad,  worn  face  was  illuminated  with  a  smile.  It  was 
by  no  means  the  first  happy  change  that  had  been 
observed  in  her  since  the  advent  of  the  Americans. 
The  general  enlivening  eifect  of  their  visit,  the  stimu 
lating  sense  of  responsibility  she  felt  as  their  hostess, 
and,  later  and  far  more  than  all  these,  her  joy  at  her 
son's  escape,  and  at  his  rapid  restoration  to  health, 
had  wrought  a  great  alteration  both  in  her  bodily 
and  in  her  mental  condition.  Her  step  became  firm, 
her  large,  matronly  figure  more  erect,  a  little  color 


826  A   DEMIGOD. 

came  into  her  cheek,  and  the  melancholy,  far-away 
look  almost  entirely  forsook  her  eyes.  But,  best  of 
all,  she  began  to  express  herself  freely,  and  it  soon 
became  evident  that  the  poor,  distraught  creature 
whose  white  face  and  drooping  form  had  haunted 
the  house — moving  slowly  and  silently  from  room 
to  room,  like  a  restless  spirit — had  been  a  woman  of 
superior  intelligence,  cultivation,  and  even  vivacity. 
"  Ah,"  said  her  overjoyed  son  to  his  visitors,  "  now 
you  begin  to  see  what  my  mother  was — and  is  /" 

At  last  the  day  which  the  Americans  had  appointed 
for  the  termination  of  their  visit  arrived.  Without 
protesting  against  their  departure,  Yyr  quietly,  but 
with  deep  sincerity,  described  the  happiness  he  had 
enjoyed  in  their  society,  and  the  benefit  he  had  de 
rived  from  the  interruption  of  his  comparative  lone 
liness  and  from  contact  with  a  little  delegation  from 
the  civilized  world.  The  stirring  scenes  in  which 
they  had  all  participated  had  woven  ties  between 
them  which  could  never  be  broken,  even  if  it  were 
not  for  the  infinitely  stronger  tie  that  now  bound 
them  together. 

The  evening  before  their  separation  the  lovers 
spent  in  such  a  blending  of  heart  with  heart  and 
soul  with  soul  as  only  such  lovers  can  enjoy.  It  was 
then  that  Hector  Vyr  became,  if  possible,  still  more 
thoroughly  convinced  of  the  injustice  he  had  done 
Madeline  in  harboring  the  thought  that  home  and 
friends  and  the  numberless  delights  of  fashionable 
society  could  weigh  in  the  balance  with  life  and  love 
with  him,  even  in  his  mountain  solitude. 


AU    REVOIR.  327 

At  Mikro-Maina,  Tsaras,  armed  with  his  certificate 
of  moral  character  siyned  by  the  brigand  chief  and 
duly  attested,  presented  himself  to  Major  Paul,  with 
the  request  that  he  he  reinstated  and  allowed  to  fin 
ish  the  undertaking  for  which  he  had  been  employed. 
His  request  was  readily  granted. 

Hector  Yyr  accompanied  his  guests  as  far  as  Spar 
ta.  "When  Robert  Griffin  came  forward  to  say  fare 
well  in  his  turn,  he  took  Yyr  apart  from  the  rest, 
and  safd,  in  a  faltering  tone,  with  cheeks  flushed  and 
eyes  bent  downward, 

"  Mr.  Yyr,  your  treatment  of  me  has  been  most 
generous,  most  noble.  But  you  have  never — not 
withstanding  the  respect,  the — the  affection  you  have 
compelled  me  to  feel  for  you — you  have  never  given 
me  a  hint — in  words,  I  mean — of  your  real  opinion 
of  me,  or  of  your  real  feeling  towards  me." 

Although  he  did  not  dare  to  raise  his  eyes,  he  felt 
the  power  of  the  look  that  was  fixed  upon  him. 

"  Tell  me,  I  implore  you,"  he  burst  forth,  "  is  there 
any  reason — do  you  know  anything  which  prevents 
you  from — from — 

Before  he  could  find  words  to  finish  his  question, 
the  answer  came — turning  his  blood  to  ice  : 

"I know  all!" 


828  A   DEMIGOD. 


XXVII. 

A    COUKT    RECEPTION. 

"HAVE  you  been  presented  to  their  Majesties?" 
asked  the  secretary  of  the  American  Legation,  ad 
dressing  a  newly  arrived  compatriot  one  morm'ng. 

"No." 

"Would  you  like  to  be?" 

"I  should  like  it  very  much." 

"Yery  well.  There  is  to  be  a  grand  ball  at  the 
palace  to-morrow  night.  I  will  introduce  you  to  the 
consul,  who  will  introduce  you  to  the  Grand  Mare- 
ckal,  and  you  will  receive  an  invitation." 

"But  — what  shall  I  wear?"  asked  the  "Globe 
trotting  American." 

"  Oh,  there  will  be  no  difficulty  on  that  score.  Or 
dinary  evening-dress  will  do." 

At  nine  o'clock  the  next  evening  the  secretary 
and  his  new  acquaintance  arrived  at  the  palace,  the 
exterior  of  which,  though  of  Pentelican  marble,  was 
far  from  imposing.  They  followed  a  motley  crowd 
up  a  narrow  staircase,  arid  presently  found  them 
selves  in  a  large,  lofty  hall,  whose  splendor  was  in 
startling  contrast  with  its  humble  approaches.  The 
floor  was  beautifully  inlaid ;  an  elaborate  frieze  ran 
along  the  middle  of  the  walls ;  above  this  wrere  par 
allelograms  of  Pompeian  painting;  the  ceiling  was 


A   COURT   RECEPTION.  309 

cut  into  panels,  each  profusely  decorated  with  red  and 
old  gold  ;  while  huge  chandeliers  and  candelabra  of 
bronze  threw  a  subdued  light  over  all.  High  Ionic 
door-ways  of  marble  opened  into  two  other  halls  sim 
ilarly  decorated,  which  to  one  viewing  the  scene  from 
a  central  point  gave  an  effect  of  almost  unlimited 
extent. 

A  multitude  of  guests  in  every  variety  of  gay, 
splendid,  and  commonplace  costumes  surged  from 
hall  to  "hall,  harmonizing  admirably  with  the  pictur 
esque  decoration  of  the  walls  and  ceiling:  palikars 
in  crimson  and  gold,  officers  in  uniform,  ministers 
and  consuls  in  court  dress,  English,  French,  and  Amer 
ican  ladies  in  elegant  Parisian  toilets,  modest  gentle 
men  in  expansive  shirt-fronts  and  swallow-tails,  and 
islanders  in  still  plainer  attire. 

Presently  a  general  buzz  of  excitement  arose  every 
where,  a  passage  was  opened  through  the  crowd,  and 
their  Majesties,  with  the  dignitaries  of  the  court,  ad 
vanced  into  the  hall.  The  king,  tall,  slender,  light- 
haired,  was  royally  handsome  in  his  citizen's  dress 
and  manifold  decorations.  The  queen  was  radiant 
with  smiles,  satin,  and  diamonds.  On  being  presented 
the  American  tourist  was  favored  with  the  following 
extended  conversation : 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  Greece?"  inquired 
the  king. 

"  Only  three  days,  your  Majesty." 

"  How  do  you  like  Athens  ?" 

"  Very  much  indeed.  It  is  to  me,  next  to  my  own, 
the  most  interesting  city  in  the  world." 


330  A   DEMIGOD. 

The  tourist  then  fell  back,  and  was  at  once  accosted 
by  an  old  palikur,  who  was  evidently  impressed  with 
the  attention  he  had  received. 

"  We  are  very  fond  of  you  Americans,"  said  the 
palikar.  "We  have  a  fellow-feeling  with  you.  Like 
us,  you  were  oppressed  by  a  tyrannous  despotism ;  like 
us,  you  arose  in  your  might  and  threw  off  the  yoke." 

"Yes,"  assented  the  American,  cordially ;  "there 
is  a  brotherhood  between  all  lovers  of  freedom  the 
world  over." 

"  We  are  grateful  to  you,  too,"  rejoined  the  pali 
kar.  "  In  our  war  of  independence  you  sympathized 
with  us,  and  many  a  ship-load  of  provisions  came  to 
us  from  your  ports.  In  our  troubles  with  our  brig 
ands  since  then  you  have  not  censured  us  with  the 
cruel  injustice  of  other  nations ;  you  have  not  insulted 
us  with  arbitrary  dictation ;  you  have  not  given  us 
self-contradictory  directions  as  to  what  to  do  with  the 
rascals,  as  England,  France,  and  other  European  pow 
ers  have  done ;  you  have  appreciated  our  efforts. 
Sir,  the  American  and  the  Greek  are  brothers  !" 

The  tourist  gratefully  acknowledged  the  compli 
mentary  speech,  and  turned  away  to  join  his  friend 
the  secretary.  As  the  two  were  sauntering  through 
the  halls,  the  stranger's  attention  was  attracted  by  two 
ladies  who  appeared  to  be  holding  a  sort  of  minor 
reception  in  the  centre  of  an  admiring  circle.  One 
was  a  stately  matron  with  a  handsome,  intellectual 
face,  crowned  by  wavy  masses  of  white  hair;  the 
other  was  in  the  very  bloom  of  magnificent  woman 
hood. 


A  COURT  RECEPTION.  331 

"  Who  are  they  ?"  asked  the  tourist,  his  face  glow 
ing  with  admiration. 

k'  Ah,  you  are  a  stranger.  But  surely  you  must 
have  heard  of  the  famous  Yyr  family  ?" 

"  Vere  ?  Are  they  any  connections  of  the  '  Lady 
Clare?'" 

"  Neither  by  name  nor  by  nature.  It  is  V-y-r,  not 
Y-e-r-e,  and  if  reports  be  true,  the  '  country  heart '  is 
to  both  these  ladies  '  worth  a  hundred  coats  of  arms.' 
It  is  said  they  leave  their  hermitage  in  the  mount 
ains  only  once  a  year,  and  then  only  from  a  sense  of 
duty." 

"  Indeed,  this  is  very  interesting.  Whose  is  the 
'country  heart?'  Some  simple 'Young  Laurence?' 
some  '  foolish  yeoman  ?' ': 

"  Well,  upon  my  word !  where  have  you  lived, 
man  ?  Is  it  possible  you  have  never  heard  of  the 
lion  of  Greece,  who  might  be  the  lion  of  the  world 
if  he  chose,  but  who  shuts  himself  up  in  an  inaccessi 
ble  mountain  fastness,  and  stubbornly  refuses  to  be 
coaxed  from  his  solitude,  or  to  allow  any  one  to  in 
trude  upon  it?  A  squad  of  Bavarian  guards  regu 
larly  patrol  the  approaches  to  his  castle,  and  no  one 
can  pass  them  without  a  written  permit,  signed  by  the 
Minister  and  countersigned  by  the  old  ogre  himself." 

"Seems  to  me  I  do  remember  something  of  the 
sort,"  replied  the  tourist — "a  newspaper  sensation 
three  or  four  years  ago.  But  it  subsided  very  quick 
ly,  and  I've  heard  nothing  since.  I  supposed,  there 
fore,  that  it  must  have  been  one  of  the  Sea-serpent 


332  A  DEMIGOD. 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  the  secretary,  em 
phatically. 

"  Then  there  really  is  such  a  marvel  as  they  told 
about?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  Why  don't  they  keep  up  the  excitement,  then  ?" 

"  They  do  in  a  certain  way.  There's  no  end  of 
table  and  cafe,  gossip ;  but  the  subject  is  tabooed  in 
the  Greek  papers.  The  editors  know  that  Hector 
Yyr  doesn't  want  to  be  talked  about,  and  there  is  a 
general  sense  of  gratitude  and  obligation  among  the 
people  that  they  know  better  than  to  violate.  You 
remember,  the  newspaper  accounts  told  of  his  won 
derful  exploits  —  how  he  attacked  whole  gangs  of 
brigands  single-handed,  and  drove  them  out  of  their 
strongholds  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember.  He  rescued  an  American  fam 
ily,  about. whom  there  was  a  great  fuss  made." 

"  Ah — we'll  come  to  that  presently." 

"  But,  of  course,  nobody  believed  such  stories." 

"Nevertheless,  they  were  true  in  the  main.  I 
happen  to  know  all  about  it.  The  Greeks  believe 
them,  at  any  rate,  and  they  would  demolish  a  paper 
that  ventured  to  make  the  most  distant  allusion  to 
their  hero  without  his  consent." 

"  Why  don't  other  papers  keep  up  the  excite 
ment — English,  French,  and  American  papers  ?  The 
Greeks  would  find  it  a  difficult  matter  to  demolish 
the  New  York  Herald  or  the  London  Times!" 

"  Don't  you  know,  my  friend,  no  man  is  lionized 
very  much  in  these  days  without  his  own  conniv- 


A   COURT  RECEPTION.  333 

ancc?  The  Angel  Gabriel  himself  would  have  to 
keep  his  trumpet  blowing,  submit  to  interviews  and 
band  serenades — submit  ?  he'd  have  to  solicit  them  ! 
— attend  dinners,  and  make  speeches,  or  he  would 
Boon  find  himself  dropping  into  obscurity." 

"But  how  do  you  knoiv"  said  the  tourist,  obsti 
nately,  "  that  it  isn't  all  a  fable,  a  revival  of  ancient 
mythology  ?  I  should  think  these  Greeks  would  be 
up  to  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  Didn't  I  tell  you  I  knew  all 
about  it?  Bless  your  soul,  I've  seen  Hector  Vyr 
himself,  and  talked  with  him !" 

"  Is  it  possible  !"  exclaimed  the  tourist.  "  Do  tell 
me  all  about  it." 

"A\rait  till  we  are  cosily  seated  with  our  cigars  in 
my  library." 

"  Let's  go  there  now." 

"No  ;  we've  a  great  deal  to  see  here  first.  I  want 
to  present  you  to  Madame  Vyr,  his  mother,  and  Ma 
dame  Vyr,  his  wife,  when  we  get  a  chance.  The  wife 
is  a  countrywoman  of  ours,  a  daughter  of  that  very 
family  he  rescued  from  the  brigands ;  so  of  course 
she  will  be  delighted  to  see  you.  That  soldierly- 
looking  old  gentleman  in  the  swallow-tail  is  her  fa 
ther,  Major  Warren  Paul,  late  of  the  firm  of  Job- 
ling,  Hotchkiss  &  Paul.  He's  what  you  would  call 
a  rabid  Philhellene — he's  more  than  that,  he's  as  good 
a  Greek  as  any  old  palikar  of  them  all." 

Seizing  their  opportunity,  the  two  Americans 
wedged  themselves  through  the  crowd,  and  received 
as  cordial  a  welcome  as  the  secretary  had  promised. 


334  A  DEMIGOD. 

Madeline  Lad  no  end  of  questions  to  ask  in  regard  to 
her  beloved  America,  and  particularly  of  her  native 
city,  which  was  also  her  new  acquaintance's  home. 

Meanwhile  the  crowd,  seeing  that  it  was  to  be  a 
purely  national  love-feast,  had  gradually  withdrawn, 
and  \vere  now  furtively  observing  their  favorites 
from  a  respectful  distance. 

" Does  Mr.  Yyr  never  come  to  Athens?"  asked  the 
tourist,  interviewing  Madeline  in  his  turn. 

"  Only  when  it  is  absolutely  necessary,  which  is 
very  seldom,"  answered  Madeline.  "  Then  he  always 
comes  incognito,  and  goes  away  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Do  you  spend  much  time  here  yourself,  madam?" 

"  No,  only  a  week  or  two." 

"  She  wouldn't  do  that  if  she  could  prevent  it," 
put  in  the  elder  Madame  Yyr,  laughing. 

"  My  husband  thinks  I  must  come  here  at  regular 
intervals  to  prevent  my  growing  rusty,"  explained 
the  younger.  "  Our  home  is  in  a  very  retired  situa 
tion  :  we  rarely  see  any  one  there  besides  each  other 
and  our  servants." 

"  Your  friends  have  difficulty  in  finding  you  2" 
asked  the  tourist,  with  affected  innocence. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Madeline,  frankly  ;  "  very  great 
difficulty." 

Major  Paul  now  advanced,  to  whom  the  new 
comer  was  duly  introduced. 

"  From  Boston,  eh  ?"  said  the  major,  shaking  his 
hand  warmly.  "  Glad  to  see  you,  sir — tremendously 
glad  to  see  you.  And  how  are  matters  at  the  new 
Athens  2" 


A   COURT  RECEPTION.  335 

"  About  as  they  are  at  the  old  Athens,  if  we  may 
judge  by  this  gorgeous  display  of  wealth  and  general 
prosperity,''  answered  the  tourist,  looking  around  the 
halls. 

"  Yes,  about  the  same,  I  suppose.  Plenty  of  gold 
and  diamonds  outside  and  plenty  of  nothing  inside. 
If  these  people  would  spend  less  in  glitter  and  more 
in  paying  their  debts  and  building  up  a  solid  foun 
dation  of  prosperity,  they  would  be  vastly  happier 
and  more  respected,  I  keep  telling  'em.  But,  wis 
dom  of  Socrates!  what  do  they  care  for  what  any 
body  says?  As  long  as  they  can  dazzle  your  eyes, 
what  difference  does  it  make  whether  they  have  any 
thing  to  eat  or  not  ?  Go  out  of  this  marble  palace, 
and  take  a  walk  through  the  streets :  what  will  you 
see,  eh?  And  how  is  it  in  Boston,  sir?  Better  look 
ing  houses  and  shops,  of  course — but  how  large  a  per 
cent,  of  the  people  do  you  suppose  eat  three  square 
meals  a  day  ?  It's  just  the  same  all  over  the  coun 
try.  "With  natural  resources  enough  to  support  a 
population  of  six  hundred  millions  in  comfort  and 
prosperity,  it  doesn't  half  support  sixty  millions — 
and  all  because  of  your  cursed  extravagance,  sir! 
Greece  is,  on  a  small  scale,  what  America  is  on  a  big 
scale,  sir !" 

Before  the  tourist  could  find  words  to  reply,  Mad 
eline  said,  "  You  must  not  mind  papa's  scolding,  lie 
docs  it  only  for  his  own  amusement.  If  there  is  any 
country  he  loves  and  admires  more  than  Greece,  it  is 
his  own  America." 

"And  if  there's  a  country,"  added  the  secretary, 
22 


336  A   DEMIGOD. 

"ho  admires  and  loves  more  than  America,  it  is  his 
own  Greece." 

"  Hold  there  !"  said  the  major ;  "  America  first,  al 
ways,  and  forever !  But  it  is  always  so — I  never  say 
a  true  and  honest  word  but  some  one  must  imme 
diately  spoil  its  whole  effect  by  calling  it  only  my 
scolding ! 

"But  all  this  isn't  what  I  came  to  say.  I  rather 
think  I  have  some  news  that  will  set  you  ladies  to 
scolding,  too — especially  you"  addressing  his  daugh 
ter. 

"  "What  is  it,  pray  ?" 

"  The  boat  went  this  afternoon." 

"  This  afternoon !"  echoed  Madeline,  in  dismay. 
"Why, it  wasn't  to  go  until  to-morrow." 

"That  is  very  true.     All  the  same,  it  has  gone." 

"But  it  had  no  right  to  go!"  cried  Madeline,  in 
dignantly. 

"  True  again,  my  daughter.  Still,  I  can't  see  that 
that  alters  the  case.  It  went  as  a  special  accommo 
dation  to  his  Serene  Magnificence — or  whatever  it 
is — Serapis  Effendi,  who  had  important  business  at 
Sparta,  admitting  of  no  delay." 

Instead  of  looking  in  tender  sympathy  upon,  poor 
Madeline's  grewsome  countenance,  her  father  only 
laughed  at  it. 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear,"  said  Madame  Yyr  mere, 
"we  ought  to  have  become  sufficiently  accustomed 
to  such  things  by  this  time.  This  is  neither  London 
nor  Boston,  you  know7.  It  only  involves  three  more 


A   COUKT   RECEPTION.  337 

days  of  gnyety  in  Athens.  I  think  we  can  reconcile 
ourselves  to  that  if  we  try.'' 

"Madeline  made  no  further  exhibition  of  indigna 
tion  or  of  disappointment  until  the  secretary  and  his 
friend  had  withdrawn,  when  she  indulged  in  sundry 
expressions  vividly  reminding  her  hearers  of  her  re 
lationship  to  the  doughty  major. 

"So,  so,"  said  the  last-named  gentleman;  "if  you 
iind  it  so  hard  to  submit  to  three  days'  enforced  ex 
ile  from  your  hermitage  in  the  wilderness,  what  pos 
sible  hope  have  we  that  you  will  ever  make  up  your 
mind  to  the  visit  to  America  we  have  been  talking 
about  so  long?" 

AVithout  noticing  her  father's  question,  Madeline 
only  said,  while  her  face  suddenly  brightened  up, 

'•  I'll  tell  you  what  we  will  do,  manmika — we  will 
ask  Mr.  Goldapple  to  take  us  to  Gytheion  in  his 
yacht;  and  Tuesday  we  shall  be  at  home! — think  of 
it,  mamuika — IIOMK  ! !" 

It  was  thus  —  her  hands  clasped  rapturously  to 
gether,  her  eyes  brighter  than  the  diamonds  upon 
her  white  throat — that  she  spoke  of  that  wildest  of 
solitudes  in  the  Taygetus  Mountains  ! 


THE  END. 


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Lost  for  Love.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  50 

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Mount  Royal 4to,  Paper  15 

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The  Story  of  Valentine  and  his  Brother 8vo,  Paper  50 

The  Wizanfa  Son 4to,  Paper  25 

Within  the  Precincts 4to,  Paper  15 

Young  Musgravc 8vo,  Paper  40 

PAYX'S  (James)  A  Beggar  on  Horseback 8vo,  Paper  35 

A  Confidential  Agent 4 to,  Paper  15 

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A  Woman's  Vengeance 8vo,  Paper  35 

At  Her  Mercy 8vo,  Paper  30 

Bred  in  the  Bone Svo,  Paper  40 

By  Proxy Svo,  Paper  35 

Carlyon's  Year Svo,  Paper  25 

For  Cash  Only 4to,  Paper  20 

Found  Dead Svo,  Paper  25 

From  Exile 4to,  Paper  15 

Gwendoline's  Harvest Svo,  Paper  25 

Halves Svo,  Paper  30 

High  Spirits 4to,  Paper  15 

Kit.  Illustrated 4 to,  Paper  20 

Less  Black  than  We're  Painted Svo,  Paper  35 

Murphy's  Master Svo,  Paper  20 

One  of  the  Family Svo,  Paper  25 

The  Best  of  Husbands Svo,  Paper  25 

The  Canon's  Ward.  Illustrated 4to,  Paper  25 

The  Talk  of  the  Town 4to,  Paper  20 

Thicker  than  Water IGmo,  Cloth,  $1  00;  4 to,  Paper  20 

Under  One  Roof 4to,  Paper  15 

Walter's  Word 8vo,  Paper  50 

What  He  Cust  Her Svo,  Paper  40 

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READE'S  Novels  :  Household  Edition.     HIM 12mo,  Cloth,  per  TO!.  1  00 


A  Simpleton  and  Wandering  Heir. 

A  Terrible  Temptation. 

A.  Woman-Hater. 

Foul  Play. 

Good  Stories. 

Griffith  Gaunt. 

Hard  Cash. 


It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend. 
Love  me  Little,  Love  me  Long. 
Peg  Woffington,  Christie  John- 
stone,  &c. 

Put  Yourself  in  His  Place. 
The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth. 
White  Lies. 


A  Perilous  Secret...  12 mo,  Cl.,  75  cts. ;  4to,  Pap.,  20  cts. ;  16mo,  Pap.  40 

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A  Woman-Hater.     HIM Svo,  Paper,  30  cents  ;     12mo,  Paper  20 

Foul  Play Svo,  Puper  30 

Stories  of  Man  ami  Other  Animals.     Illustrated. ..4to,  Paper  20 

Griffith  Gaunt.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  80 


10  Harper  &  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


READE'S  (Charles)  Hard  Cash.     Illustrated 8vo,  Papcr$ 

It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend 8vo,  Paper 

Jack  of  all  Trades IGmo,  Paper 

Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long 8vo,  Paper 

Multum  in  Parvo.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper 

Peg  Woffington,  &c 8vo,  Paper 

Put  Yourself  in  His  Place.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper 

The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth 8vo,  Paper 

The  Coming  Man 32mo,  Paper 

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A  Fair  Maid 4to,  Paper 

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Mattie:  a  Stray.. 8vo,  Paper 

No  Man's  Friend 8vo,  Paper 

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Harper  &  Brothers'  Popular  Novels.  1 1 


SCOTT'S  Novels.     See  Waverley  Novels. 

SHKRWOOD'S  (Mrs.  John)  A  Transplanted  Rose 12mo,  Cloth  $1  00 

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Mela's  Faith 8vo,  Paper  35 

The  Blue  Ribbon 8vo,  Paper  40 

The  Last  of  Her  Line  4to,  Paper  15 

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Cousin  Henry 4to,  Paper  10 

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He  Knew  He  was  Right.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  80 

Is  He  Popenjoy ? 4to,  Paper  20 

John  Caldigate 4to,  Paper  15 

Kept  in  the  Dark 4 to,  Paper  15 

Lady  Anna Svo,  Paper  30 

Marion  Fay.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  20 

Phineas  Redux.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  75 


12  Harper  &  Brothers1  Popular  Novds. 

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Ralph  the  Heir.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  75 

Sir  Harry  Hotspur  of  Humblethwaite.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  35 

The  American  Senator 8vo,  Paper  50 

The  Belton  Estate 8vo,  Paper  35 

The  Bertrams 4to,  Paper  15 

The  Duke's  Children 4to,  Paper  20 

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The  Vicar  of  Bullhampton.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  80 

The  Warden,  and  Barchester  Towers Svo,  Paper  60 

The  Way  We  Live  Now.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  90 

Thompson  Hall.     Illustrated 32mo,  Paper  20 

Why  Fran  Frohman  Raised  her  Prices,  &c 4to,  Paper  10 

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Anne  Furncss  Svo,  Paper  50 

Like  Ships  Upon  the  Sea 4to,  Paper  20 

Mabel's  Progress Svo,  Paper  40 

The  Sacristan's  Household.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  BO 

Veronica Svo,  Paper  50 

WALLACE'S  (Lew)  Ben-Hur 16mo,  Cloth  1  50 

WAVERLEY  NOVELS.     12rao.     With  2000  Illustrations. 

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Wavcrley ;  Guy  Mannering ;  The  Antiquary ;  Rob  Roy ;  Old 

Mortality ;  The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian ;  A  Legend  of  Montrose ; 

The  Bride  of  Lammermoor  ;  The  Black  Dwarf  ;  Ivanhoe ;  The  . 

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of  Nigel ;  Peveril  of  the  Peak ;  Quentin  Durward ;  St.  Ronan's 

Well;  Redgauntlet;  The  Betrothed;  The  Talisman;  Woodstock; 

Chronicles  of  the  Canongate,  The  Highland  Widow,  &c. ;  The 

Fair  Maid  of  Perth ;  Anne  of  Geierstein ;  Count  Robert  of  Paris  ; 

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Land  at  Last 8vo,  Paper  40 

Wrrcked  in  Port Svo,  Paper  35